


Awakenings I (in which Greg Lestrade realises a few things about himself and his subsequent explorations thereof...)

by sanguisuga



Series: Awakenings [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Cheating, Clubbing, Dancing, Divorce, Drugs, First Time, Light Angst, Light BDSM, Love or Dependency?, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Pining, Questioning, Relationship Negotiation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-30 19:19:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 80,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguisuga/pseuds/sanguisuga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gregory Lestrade's story, how he came to realise who he really was and what he really wanted out of life.</p><p>There is mention of both Sherlock and Mycroft in this part of the series, but there is no shipping. This is just the beginning of their association, even if there might be pining on the part of both Holmes brothers...</p><p>;-p</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically the beginning to my "Awakenings" series - all of my ongoing works will eventually tie into each other somehow. 
> 
> Un-beta'd and un-brit-picked, so any weirdness is all on my own. I know that I've probably got bits wrong, especially any mention of Uni or SOP at the Met and even my "military training hospital" - let's just say that in this world, this is the way that these things work. :)
> 
> (I have managed to find myself a brit-picker, so some things have been corrected, but I will hasten to add that if anything else doesn't make sense, then that's okay, because I did it on purpose. Right? Um - right!) ;-p
> 
> ((5/27/16 - I was re-reading this bit and was struck by the stark difference in my writing style from when I first started posting and now, and I simply had to revise the first few chapters. I'll probably doing the same to other parts of this same series at some point in the near future. Just as an FYI for those who might revisit this and be a bit thrown by the difference. Ta!))

Ever since his university days Greg Lestrade had been plagued with random thoughts, unseemly cravings that he didn't always understand. He never allowed himself to dwell on the possibilities, letting the thoughts flit through his mind, never to linger. Even though there were certain, well - opportunities that presented themselves from time to time, he had just been too unsure, too afraid of what it could mean. So Greg had chosen to focus on his studies, and also on making acquaintances among his fellow students - mainly within the female portion of the population.

As he had grown and had been exposed to more of the real world, Greg had begun to gain an inkling of what his unfamiliar impulses really meant, but he continued to shove those thoughts into a black hole in his head. Even if he could admit to himself what he was feeling, exploring anything new simply wasn't an option at this stage of his life. After all, he was steadily climbing the ladder and making good progress along his chosen and rather demanding career path. He was also devoutly married to a beautiful woman whom he loved - sure, the sex had become infrequent and somewhat lacklustre at best, but wasn't that an issue that all couples had to deal with eventually?

But then came the night that changed everything, that one single night where everything that he had crammed into that pit in his mind had started to ooze right back out again. An anonymous tip had come in that there was a drug ring being run somewhere within a certain circle of gay clubs, along with a heavy implication of prostitution as well. Greg was a Detective Constable and generally wouldn't have been involved, but the drug squad had been running short on able bodies, so he had volunteered to be part of the raid. Besides picking up a bit of overtime, he was actually looking forward to giving the old legs a good stretch out on the street.

He was partnered up with Paul, a fairly solid and able bloke who had come into the Met a couple of years after Greg had. Their superiors had demanded that they kit themselves out in riot gear for the impending soirée, which seemed a bit much to both Greg and his partner for the night, but they knew better than to try to defy their orders.

"Don't you just look all naff? Oh, the boys are just gonna love you!" Paul made an obnoxious kissy-face at him as he swayed his hips.

"Oi! Shut it!" Greg rapped his baton against Paul's helmet lightly. "C'mon, let’s get this done."

The raid itself went fairly smoothly, at least as far as these things usually went, anyway. The whole team moved in as a well-organised pack, neatly cordoning off the dance floor and silencing the heavy thumping beats that the DJ was producing. Then the lads in the lead took notice of a door leading off into a back hallway. There were two additional doors on either side of the dimly-lit corridor, and another at the very back. Forming up again, they paired off and as one, opened the mysterious doors and burst in.

Greg and Paul entered the first door on the left just in time to watch a blow from a belt land neatly on a well-padded but very naked bottom that was bent over a bench, a heavy whistling crack echoing through the air as a result.

"Shit." Greg's voice had gone a bit breathless, and he and his partner glanced at each other in surprise. The man with the belt raised his arm again, completely focused on his task and quite oblivious to their intrusion. Greg cleared his throat loudly, and the man froze briefly before turning slowly, eyeing them both warily. "Sir, you're gonna want to put that away now." In response, the man shook himself slightly and started to thread the belt back into the loops on his leather trousers. "Right. And we’re going to need you to let that other gentleman out of his restraints as well."

The man inclined his head with an infuriatingly smug smirk. "Certainly, Officer." His voice was silky-smooth and heated, and it unexpectedly made Greg's brain go a bit fuzzy and warm around the edges. He shook his head in an attempt to focus as he heard an all-clear being called out in the corridor, snapping himself back to attention. Paul glanced out the doorway to find more men being lined up in the corridor, tilting his head at his partner in a silent conversation. Greg flipped up his clear visor with a little nod, watching as the man took a key from a nearby cabinet and crouched down unlock his, well, whatever.

He took a moment to catalogue what he was seeing, filing the images away for future - what - he didn't really know. He only knew that he needed to remember this man's bare chest, with its dark sprinkling of hair, his broad shoulders and well-defined back. And, oh yes, the way his leather trousers stretched taut over his arse as he knelt - that was something that Greg needed a very clear memory of indeed. The man’s hair was a dark auburn, trimmed neatly with a light tinge of silver at the temples - in his late forties, perhaps. His features were sharp and clever, something of the predator in his face and in the smooth movement of his body. Dark eyes scrutinised Greg for a moment as he straightened up and then he broke into a broad, knowing grin, his teeth gleaming in the half-light of the room.

Greg felt his belly go a bit wobbly, and at that moment he was entirely too grateful for the cumbersome riot gear, seeing as how it hid his immediate and rather embarrassing reaction to that smile. Just what the hell was going on with him, anyway? The man turned away to attend to his companion, who was shaking uncontrollably as he crowded into his side. He was blond and a little portly, definitely on the younger side of twenty-five, his startled brown eyes darting between Greg and Paul sporadically. The older man whispered to him and proceeded to pet his head firmly until the young man shuddered and took in a deep breath, finally seeming to get his bearings.

"Clothes, Aiden. It seems our presence is required elsewhere."

"Yes, Scott." He moved to comply with alacrity, first helping the older man into a black t-shirt, smoothing it out and tucking it into the back of his trousers before hopping into his own clothing with quick precision.

Paul whistled low in appreciation. "Wish I could get my wife to hop-to like that." Greg simply nodded, too mystified by whatever it was he was witnessing to find his voice. "C'mon, laddie." Paul took Aiden by the shoulder and steered him out into the hallway, where quite an astounding array of flesh was being displayed, and with absolutely no dearth of pride.

Greg turned back in time to watch the man, Scott, pulling a chain from his pocket to slip over his neck. There was the slight rasping sound of metal sliding against metal and Greg felt his mouth suddenly go dry. _'Ohfuckohfuckohfuck.'_ He didn't want to see, didn't want to know, but damn if he didn't steal a look anyway. Sure enough, this ridiculous manifestation of the stereotypical tall and dark stranger was tucking circular ID tags into the collar of his shirt. _'Shitdamnbuggerandblast.'_

Scott looked at Greg then, his eyes narrowing, his fingers tracing the circular shapes under his t-shirt as he stalked toward him. He dipped his fingers into a front pocket briefly, showing Greg a somewhat crumpled business card. Then his hand slipped out of his immediate view, and Greg felt just the slightest hint of motion along his back pocket.

"Should you wish to...discuss things later." Scott's voice was a low murmur at his ear, and Greg had to squeeze his eyes shut against a truly dizzying and utterly bewildering flash of lust. Then the horrid man breezed past him to take up his position next to Aiden in the hallway.

The rest of the night went by in a blur of faces and endless reams of paperwork as the team processed each of the men that they had brought in. Throughout it all, Greg was constantly aware of Scott's presence wherever he happened to be in the room, almost as if he were a compass and the older man were magnetic north. Greg found himself nervously running his fingers through his prematurely silver hair and licking his lips more than usual, far too aware of the weight of dark eyes on him. At one point, he looked up and saw Aiden perched on a bench directly across the room from him, absolutely seething with impotent rage. His immediate reaction was shock, and then he found himself straightening up in his chair and returning a curt look of his own. _'Watch yourself, boyo.'_ He wasn't sure if it was his expression or the boy's natural submissiveness, but Aiden immediately trained his gaze down on the floor, his round cheeks blushing furiously.

Greg turned his head slightly and caught sight of Scott, who had obviously watched the silent exchange between the two men with undisguised glee. Greg shook his head with an exasperated sigh as he went back to his paperwork.

It was nearly two by the time he got home, his brain fuzzy and body heavy with fatigue to find Nora fast asleep on the sofa all wrapped up in her least-appealing dressing gown. Greg didn't necessarily think that she had been waiting on him to return safely, even though it had been a while since he had been out in the field, such as it was. He knelt by the side of the sofa and studied her serene face, tracing the shape of her brow and jawline with his eyes. Then his gaze travelled down, taking in the firm if plush shape of her body.

Even after a decade of married life, she still boasted nice high breasts and luscious hips, the very picture of nearly any straight man’s dream woman. He searched her face, letting himself remember the way she felt underneath him, breathless with want and need and there was...nothing there. He was shocked to realise that he felt absolutely nothing at all as he looked down at her. Greg sighed and closed his eyes, a bleak emptiness stealing over his mind and making him tremble in confusion. Then he imagined the overwhelming sensation he had experienced when Scott's breath had brushed across the back of his neck as he had leant in close to him, and then there was a sudden heat blooming in Greg’s groin, something unfolding deep within him and lighting up his brain.

_'Oh. Well...shit.'_

He opened his eyes again and found Nora looking up at him with sleepy if somewhat intense interest. She must have seen something welcoming in his expression because she reached up to pull him down for a kiss. Unlike their usual pattern in the past few months, it grew heated very quickly, both of them making indiscriminate noises of mindless lust. Greg ran a hand up her legs, deftly slipping under the dressing gown and between her thighs, her body arching under his touch. That was one thing that Greg had always appreciated about his wife, as she was very responsive and comparatively easy to please in bed. Whenever he happened to be out with his mates and they each went on to complain about the difficulty of satisfying their various partners, he wound up baffled. But then, maybe she was just better at faking it... He fingered her lightly and found that she was already plump and juicy, eagerly anticipating more than just a couple of intrusive digits. He growled into her mouth and she moaned incoherently, writhing against his hand and seemingly trying to inhale him as she tugged on the lapels of his shirt.

Greg pulled Nora to a kneeling position on the floor with him, unceremoniously turning her around and pushing her down onto her hands as he positioned himself behind her. She went down on her elbows with a moan as he flipped her nightclothes up over her back, exposing herself to him as he fumbled with his zip. Greg stilled for a moment after pushing his way deep inside, just feeling the wet, tight heat of her body surrounding his cock. And then Nora moved against him, a slow but demanding roll of her hips, and he couldn't help but to thrust.

Unbidden, images of Scott as he had first seen him came into his mind's eye, just odd flashes of chest hair or dark eyes, the way his strong hand had been wrapped around that damned belt. He felt himself grow harder as his spine twisted, if such a thing were even possible. As his wife tucked a hand underneath and began to rub at herself furiously, Greg suddenly imagined that he was the one bent over, that Scott was the one behind him, thrusting firmly. Nora started to come with a whimper, quivering underneath him as he continued to fuck deep into her. The combination of the contractions of her pussy around his cock and the enticing picture in his head pushed him over the edge and he came with a loud shout.

They both slid to the floor in a large uncoordinated lump, sweating and breathing hard into various body parts. After allowing a couple of minutes of panting recovery, Nora pushed against him gently but insistently and sat up as he rolled away. "What the bloody hell was that all about, then?"

Greg shrugged, turning his best abashed expression on her. "Long night. Guess I needed some, uh...stress relief." He grinned weakly as he ran a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, well... Not that I want to encourage you to be all stressed out or anything, but I certainly wouldn't mind some more of _that_ from time to time."

"Mm." Greg’s head spun slightly as he realised that he could easily fall asleep right there on the living room floor with his spent dick simply hanging out of his pants, but he allowed Nora to pull him up and lead him to bed. After stripping naked and just leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor, he fell into bed and into oblivion.

**********          **********          **********

It took three days of Greg fingering Scott's card in his pocket, taking it out and staring at the simple embossed letters, and seeing those damned dark eyes in his head before he found the courage to actually make the call.

"Ah, yes." Scott’s voice was still silky-smooth, and Greg could almost feel it deepening from across the line. "The officer with the delightful silver hair. I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever hear from you. What would you like to discuss, officer mine?"

"Not yours, mate."

"Not _yet_ , no."

Greg could hear the amusement in his voice, and it made him angry and yet unaccountably excited at the same time. He cleared his throat uneasily, fighting back on the embarrassing waver that wanted to come out in his own voice. "I'd like to meet and talk, yeah. Somewhere public."

"Oh, dear. Are you asking me out on a date?"

"What? No! I... I’d just like to talk, that's all. If - if you’re willing."

There was a significant pause and a deep intake of breath on the other end of the line. "Very well. There's a café just down on the corner by my offices. I should be able to join you there around seven. Does that work for you?"

"Yeah, that's perfect. Um, thank you." They rang off, leaving Greg feeling relieved and yet uneasy, almost like he had when he made his very first date at the age of fifteen. Ridiculous.

Greg's shift ended at six, and he changed out of his crumpled suit into his street clothes, feeling much more at ease when he was out of what he thought of as his 'uniform'. He found himself staring in the mirror critically, attempting to smooth the wrinkles out of his shirt and wishing he had worn the newer pair of jeans today. He shook his head ruefully and pulled a face at himself. _'You're not on the pull, m'lad. Just want information, right? Think of it as just another case, that’s all.'_

Scott's offices weren't too far from NSY, so Greg took to the busy pavements of London on foot, taking his time, feeling the heartbeat of the city all around him as he watched people going to and fro. He arrived at the café a couple of minutes late, and saw Scott striding across the street, heading straight for him. Greg’s heart beat out a weird tattoo in his chest when Scott caught up to him, suddenly feeling like he was terribly out of place. Somehow in his crisp business suit, the damn man looked even more feral than he had in the bloody leather trousers.

His dark eyes crinkled as he looked Greg over thoroughly. "Ah, yes. A man who looks just as good out of uniform as in one."

Greg looked down at his rumpled shirt and battered jeans, frowning at the overt compliment. "You're taking the piss, mate."

"Oh, no. Not at all." His lips pursed as his gaze slowly raked over Greg’s body, from top to toe and back again. "Not at all."

Greg felt a slow blush begin to heat his cheeks and other parts, besides. He tried to ignore his traitorous bits as Scott grinned and held out his hand. "I don't believe we were ever properly introduced, officer sir."

Greg grasped his proffered hand firmly. "God, that's pretty rude, in't it? Lestrade. Uh, Greg."

"Pleased to meet you, officer Greg. I'm Scott Vaughn. I'll be your quick and dirty guide to gay sex tonight." His thumb rubbed gentle circles on Greg's hand with obvious intention.

"Um." Greg looked down and shuffled his feet awkwardly before letting go of Scott's hand. "Not sure about that quite yet."

"Shall we, then?" Scott pulled open the café door, indicating for Greg to pass through ahead of him. Greg realised, a little belatedly, that he may have had something other than chivalry in mind when he felt Scott's eyes graze over his backside. He heard a deeply appreciative sound from behind him and felt his legs go a bit wobbly.

_'Good Lord, give me strength.'_

They were seated at a cosy table in a quiet corner and ordered coffee and sandwiches. While waiting to be served, Greg made a few futile attempts at small talk, but found his voice petering out whenever Scott's eyes caught his. Finally, the food arrived and after a few bites had seemed to take the edge off the gnawing sensation in his belly, Greg cleared his throat and took a deep breath in preparation to speak.

"So." Scott's voice cut him off neatly, bringing Greg up short. "At the club a few nights ago, you seemed to have some sort of revelation. Do you mind telling me what set it off?" Greg's eyes flickered to Scott's chest and then back to his face, almost against his will. "Ah." He dug under his collar and hooked the chain with one finger, drawing out his ID tags slowly. "I thought that might be it." He grinned wickedly as he rubbed the tags together. The odd sound of metal sliding against metal seemed to hit Greg at the base of his spine, and just travelled outward, making him shiver in his seat. "So the copper has a thing for military men, hm?"

"What branch?" Greg was unaccountably proud of himself when his voice barely shook.

"RAF." Scott watched with a quirked eyebrow as Greg's shoulders relaxed minutely. "Not your favoured branch, then."

Greg looked to him in sudden consternation. "Bloody hell. Am I really that easy to read?"

"Not necessarily. I'm just really good at it." Greg's eyebrows telegraphed his scepticism. Scott leant in a little closer and lowered his voice for privacy’s sake, glancing around carefully. "Look. I'm a Dom, and a damn fine one, if I do say so myself. Part of what I do is to take the men under my care to the very edge of their physical limitations. They aren't always able to verbalise when they've gotten to that point, so I have to pay very close attention."

Greg swallowed uneasily as a bit of his sandwich seemed to get stuck in his throat. "I, uh...thought there were rules, safewords, that sort of thing."

"Oh, of course - all of that is negotiated before play. However, once they're in the scene, their bodies are running high on endorphins, and after a while they don't even feel the blows any more. When those hormones are elevated, everything feels remarkably sensual. The top could be drawing blood, and the bottom might be oblivious to it. There's really no high quite like the high that pain provides."

"Um."

Scott sat back and watched with a clinical sort of interest as Greg tried to process. "A lot of the time, there isn't even any sex." He grinned as Greg's brow furrowed in confusion. "That's a popular misconception, isn't it? Gay men are all about sex, all the time. The kinksters even more. And of course, all gay sex is kinky sex, right?"

"God, I hope not."

Scott’s smile relaxed into something a little less predatory, his eyes crinkling with mirth. "No, I certainly hadn't pegged you as someone who would be too into the scene. You..." He searched Greg's face sincerely. "I believe you’d care too much. To have to hurt someone, even if they asked it of you - you'd hurt too. I imagine that you're a very considerate and generous lover. Or you will be, once you get the basic mechanics down." Greg blushed furiously, fixing his eyes on his half-eaten supper. "You look lovely when you do that, did you know that?" Greg squirmed as Scott’s grin sharpened once more. "Why don't you tell me about your fascination with the military? Where did that come from?"

Greg stared into his nearly empty coffee cup, heartily wishing it were a pint instead. "My mum fell ill when I was twelve - nobody was quite sure what with. There was an army base a few miles out of town with a medical training hospital. It was pretty new and state of the art, and our regular GP thought that maybe they'd be able to help. So we petitioned to have her admitted, and they took her. Set us up in one of the officer's rooms, and they let me go to school with the officer's kids." His voice began to tremble as Scott's hand came to rest on his lightly, offering a modicum of comfort.

"Go on. Only what you're comfortable telling me." Greg nodded, suddenly feeling inexplicably better. Feeling a little bold, he turned his hand on the table so their palms nestled together.

"After class, I'd watch them training. I was a bit of a starry-eyed kid, I guess. I just admired them so much. The way they were willing to put their bodies on the line to protect people like my family. I admired the doctors too, but the soldiers were the ones I watched. I couldn't really understand it myself. The way I would feel compelled to go out every afternoon, hook my fingers in the fence and just hold on for dear life and watch and watch and watch." He cleared his throat with a small laugh. "And then there were the dreams, of course."

"Ah, puberty." Scott chuckled.

"Yeah.” Greg let his eyes dart up to catch Scott’s as he shrugged idly. “But, well... Mum was pretty religious, and we just didn't talk about that sort of thing. I had no idea what was even going on in my head, or to my body. I'd wake up all sticky and with vague memories of my dreams, but I never knew what it meant. I couldn't ask Da, because he was so preoccupied with work and Mum's illness."

"Did you consider enlisting?"

"A bit. But I was sick a lot as a kid, and runty. Figured I wouldn't have a chance. Didn't even start filling out until I was nearly seventeen, after Mum - well. After she passed." Scott's hand tightened on his briefly, and Greg sighed. "And by that time I was all signed up for Uni. Thought about maybe doing medical school, but I didn't have the A-levels. By the time school was done, I’d figured out that I wanted to help people out a little closer to home."

"The Met."

"Yeah. My uncle had been in the service, but he was killed in the line of duty before his thirtieth birthday. Damn near broke my Da. When I told him that I had joined up, I thought he was gonna have a coronary."

Scott smiled at him, his eyes twinkling with an odd sort of pride. He suddenly looked ten years younger in Greg's eyes, and damn if it wasn't beautiful. His breath caught in his throat, but he took a hasty sip of cold coffee to hide it.

"I'm hoping to work Homicide. There's a retirement in the division coming up, and I'm going to put my hand in."

Scott squeezed his hand again. "Good luck to you, then." Greg eyed him speculatively. "Why do you look surprised?"

"My wife, Nora. She's not exactly happy about it. Says that it's more dangerous, and I'll be working later hours."

"Well, yes. She's probably right. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't go for it, if that's what you want to do."

"Yeah, but... Well, she's my wife. I should be there to take care of her, right?"

Scott sighed, rolling his eyes dramatically. "She's a grown woman, and I'm sure she’s entirely capable of taking care of herself." He rolled his eyes at Greg's sceptical expression. "So often we men do what's 'expected' of us and then we end up completely miserable well before middle age. Why don't you do something for you, for a change?"

"Do what, exactly?" Greg smiled impishly as he relaxed into his role, earning a quick gasp of delight from across the table. "Do _you_ , perhaps?"

Scott let out a deep rolling laugh, throwing his head back with joy. "Perhaps, yes. What I meant was more along the lines of being true to yourself. If you want to catch murderers, then do it. If you want to fuck men, then _do_ it." Greg grinned easily as he began to embrace the idea, shaking off his nerves and finding himself getting genuinely excited over the prospect instead. "Seriously, you're what? Early thirties?"

"Thirty-seven, actually."

"Damn. Even with that gorgeous silver hair, you're ageing well.” Scott hummed low. “Very, very well... So, do you want to be stuck in a loveless marriage and a dead-end job for the next thirty-seven years?"

"I love my wife." Greg's voice fell flat between them, and he refused to meet Scott's eyes.

"I'm sure you do. But you don't _desire_ her." Scott looked down at where Greg's fingers had subconsciously intertwined with his, tugging on him gently. "She's going to figure it out, Greg. She's a smart woman."

"How could you possibly -"

Scott narrowed his eyes. "Please. She married you, didn't she? She's smart, dammit. She'll figure it out. And when she does, then your whole life together will have been a lie. That will ruin her, Greg. It's better that she hear it from you, and as soon as possible. Believe me, I know. I've seen it, far too many times."

"And just what will I be telling her? This is all...” Greg waved his free hand in a vague circle. “Right now, I don't even know if I'm - well."

"Gay? Homosexual? Queer? Fairy? Fruit? Poofter?" Scott's voice was mocking, lilting higher with each word, but his dark eyes were quite serious.

" _Stop_. Just stop it." Greg squeezed Scott's hand, and then started rubbing small circles with his thumb, biting his lip absentmindedly.

"Surely you remember the taunts from the schoolyard, Greg."

He nodded bleakly and then shrugged again. "I never knew what they meant, though. I was pretty sheltered because of my illnesses, and Mum's religious leanings. Truth be told, I wasn't even aware that - _this_ \- was even an option. Not until Uni."

"Ah!" Scott's face brightened. "Did you do any experimentation?" He sighed melodramatically. "I love Uni stories." Greg laughed as he began to relax again.

"Nothing quite that juicy, I'm afraid. I did have this study partner, though. On nice days we'd go out on the green with our books and attempt to revise." Greg's eyes stared into the middle distance as he allowed memory to overtake him. "He had this beautiful golden-blond hair, and when the sun was shining down on him, it was almost like I was staring at an angel. He caught me looking, of course, and more than once. One day, he just reached out and took my hand in his." He smiled as Scott's fingers tightened around his, just a bit. "We stayed like that the whole afternoon. Sitting close together, just holding hands. It was so sweet, almost innocent. The next day, he wasn't in class. I - I didn't see him again. And after that, I wouldn't study alone with blokes any more. I sought out groups, with as many girls as I could find."

"You were in love with him."

"I suppose I must have been, or at least as near to it as kids ever get. But it was a fluke, right? Because blokes don't fall in love with other blokes. We just don’t. We get married, we have kids and a career." Greg's frustrations started to bubble up in his chest, finding release in his eyes to his embarrassment and dismay. "That’s it - that's just what you do, right?"

"Oh, Greg. Come home with me. Please." Greg started to shake his head, gripping tighter to Scott's hand. "Nothing has to happen. In fact, it's probably better if it doesn't. But you can't be alone tonight." Greg's mouth opened with a weak protest, but Scott forestalled him, knowing precisely what he was going to say and finding it completely inadequate. "Of course she'll be there, but she can't help you. Not right now, not with this. You know that."

"No, I..." Greg looked down at the table and at their clasped hands as he sniffled quietly. No - whatever this was, he knew that he needed to follow it through, needed to finally start digging his way out of that black hole in his head. "You're right. And I don't want to be alone."

"I have an appointment at the club, but we can stop by to reschedule."

Greg looked at him in surprise. "Already back to business, then?"

"Of course. The mating ritual of the stereotypical gay male is a very powerful force, you’ll find. If we kept the club closed for any length of time, we would very swiftly be pushed out of business. Although there were some members of the drug-ring using our establishment to conduct their unfortunate business, none of them were direct employees of the club. Everyone that was involved has been placed on a block list and will no doubt be ousted by several other clubs as well.”

Greg nodded as he drained the dregs of his stone-cold coffee, grimacing slightly. He squeezed Scott's hand before standing abruptly and tugging at him.

"Let's go, then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg makes the acquaintance of one Sherlock Holmes, prat extraordinaire... (And makes a new friend...)

Greg was surprised to learn that it was nearly nine-thirty by the time they left the café, still hand in hand. He found it an oddly comfortable feeling, openly strolling down the street on the arm of this virtual stranger.

As they entered the club, he felt even shabbier than before, trailing after Scott in his ridiculously posh suit. He began to feel a bit better as he looked around, noting that most of the men on or off the dance floor were outfitted in a similar fashion as he was. Of course, their shirts had been carefully ironed, and their jeans were newer and - _ahem_ \- tighter.

For the second time in a week, Greg found himself walking through that nondescript door, just off an innocuous hallway.

"It's about _fucking_ time!"

Greg started abruptly at the sound of the voice from within. Imperious, even demanding, yes, but needy as well. Desperate.

He followed Scott into the room and closed the door behind him, leaning up against it as his eyes roved over the figure of the man within. At first glance he looked to be terribly young, but noticing some lines around his eyes, Greg revised his estimate to late twenties instead. He was boldly standing in front of them in nothing but his pants, making no attempt to cover himself. Greg subconsciously counted the boy’s ribs as he took in his remarkably thin, almost emaciated figure. He obviously hadn't showered recently, as his skin shone with sweat and grime, and his greasy black curls just touched his shoulders. His pale eyes were bloodshot, and they jumped from point to point in the room and between the two men with impressive disregard.

Greg exchanged a significant glance with Scott as the older man inclined his head in his direction. "Greg, this is Sherlock. Sherlock, Greg."

 _'Sherlock? What the hell's a Sherlock?'_ The thought was barely formed in his brain before the boy's voice snapped at him irritably.

"It's a perfectly good Old English moniker!" Greg stiffened as the ridiculous thought that Sherlock had somehow read his mind popped into his brain. "Don't be _stupid_. I don't have to, it's written all over you." Greg blinked. Well, that was...reassuring.

"Sherlock," Scott warned.

"Who is this man, anyway? New boyfriend?" Sherlock's eyes raked over Greg’s body contemptuously. "Ah. Newly gay, or at least new to admitting it to himself. " His eyes narrowed to pinpoints and his lips twisted mockingly. "What will your dear wife think? And after a decade, too. Cad." He turned back to Scott, seemingly dismissing Greg outright. "You're to be his tutor, then?" He started pacing in tight circles, giving Scott a withering look as he moved. "I'm sure I'm not the best choice of subject for an introductory lesson in beating people senseless. Especially not in front of a _copper_."

Greg winced a little at the invective that was spit out on the last word. Scott sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. "Sherlock, that’s quite enough. I only came to see about rescheduling."

Fury suddenly erupted on the pinched face, and Greg took a half-step closer, almost afraid that he might have to intervene in the odd scene he was witnessing. " _NO!_ You can't! I _need_ it!"

Scott studied the trembling figure, his lips pursed in thought. "How long?"

"Nearly a week." Sherlock’s already scratchy voice cracked with desperation. "I'm going mad." He abruptly raked his long fingers through his hair and fisted his curls, holding on and pulling himself down into a protective ball.

Scott sighed quietly and nodded, holding out a hand placatingly. "Five minutes, all right?"

The boy groaned loudly, but remained in a tight crouch on the floor as he nodded feebly. Scott took Greg's upper arm and led him back out into the corridor, clasping both of his hands in his as he took in a deep breath.

"Sherlock's a junkie."

"I'd gathered, from his appearance.” Greg shrugged with an uneasy smile. “I've seen a few in my day."

"I'm sure you have, but probably no-one quite like Sherlock.” He threw a glance back at the door and cleared his throat. “Every now and then, he tries to quit."

Greg nodded, beginning to glean an understanding. "And you're like his rehab, yeah?"

Scott smiled toothily with a little tilt of his head. "Like I said, the endorphin high is really quite something else. Furthermore, it's completely natural and not particularly fatal. Unlike his typical drug of choice."

"And just how did he know I was a cop? He wasn't here the other night - I'm pretty sure I would have remembered that foul attitude."

"Sherlock has a remarkable mind. He sees everything, and just knows things about people, can read them like an open book. In fact, that’s how he came to me. Just walked right up out on the street and said, ‘So, you like to beat men. I have a proposal for you.’ At first I thought that someone had told him about me - after all, a lot of my clients come to me via word-of-mouth, but no. No, he just looked at me and knew. Brain like a machine.” Scott hesitated momentarily, a quick pall passing over his features. “But I think that means that his mind is constantly turning, always on. The drugs are the only thing that seem to help shut it down temporarily, to give him some measure of peace."

"He needs this from you. Tonight. Now."

"It's either me and the belt, or he's going to go out and find his peace elsewhere."

Greg shook his head, his priorities abruptly shifting, wondering what this foretold for the rest of the evening. "Right. You better get to it, then."

"I'd offer to let you watch, but he's right, of course. His body, as frail as it seems, can take an ungodly amount of punishment." Greg winced, feeling the blood drain from his face and settling uncomfortably in his chest. "You, ah, probably don't want to be within hearing distance either."

Greg swallowed uneasily as he tried to find his voice again. "No. Definitely not."

Scott smiled at him sympathetically. "Get a drink or two. I've got a tab at the bar you can put them on. Watch all the pretty boys - maybe even hit the dance floor." Greg raised an eyebrow speculatively, making Scott chuckle good-naturedly. "Well, a man can dream, can't he?" Greg grinned at him with a little shake of the head. "Go on, then. Half an hour, forty-five minutes, tops."

Scott brushed his lips over Greg's forehead and patted him on the bum, making him blush more with anticipation than embarrassment. Greg was astonished that he was so comfortable with the overly-familiar gestures. How had he gotten used to a man touching him like this so easily?

Before turning to go, Greg fiddled with his wallet momentarily. "Wait. My card. Could you... Well, it's just - if he needs or wants help of the more conventional variety, I know people that I could put him in touch with."

Scott looked at him tenderly, and pulled him into his arms for a gentle, almost delicate kiss, but definitely heated and eager as well. There was such promise of delights to come that it made Greg felt almost lightheaded.

"You're a good man, Gregory Lestrade. I will certainly give him your card."

With that, Scott released Greg to totter back into the main club, his feet light and head in the clouds.

At the bar, he nodded at the bartender, a gruff-looking burly bloke with a shiny bald head. He looked Greg up and down before starting to pull a pint without a word. _'They're all bloody mind-readers, then.'_ He settled himself on a stool and turned to face the dance floor. When the bartender plonked down his pint, he hooked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the hallway and mouthed _'Scott'_ at him. The gruffness left the man's face with startling ease as he broke into a cheery grin, giving Greg a thumbs-up before turning away to help his other customers. Greg could only shake his head slightly as he started to down his pint, drinking nearly half in a single pull. After that fortification, he felt a bit more prepared to settle back and really take in his surroundings.

The music was naturally loud, steady thumping beats that had Greg subconsciously tapping his fingers against his pint-glass rhythmically. The light was dim, with random spotlights highlighting the stage, the dance floor, and the occasional table along the wall. The tables were mostly surrounded by small groups laughing and jostling amongst themselves - probably mates out on the town. The gathered men were short or tall, small and large, seemingly all ethnicities and body-types as there was no group or physicality that appeared to be excluded.

The dance floor was an absolute riot of movement and colour as the assembled men moved with and against each other in a writhing frenzy. Some were obviously couples, as their attention was focused only on each other, while others danced frenetically with whomever just happened to be near. There were a smattering of singles here and there obviously on the pull, as they were scanning the crowd with interest and increasing desperation as the night grew ever later. In other words, it was exactly like any other dance club in the city, with the exception of the obvious lack of members of the opposite sex.

Greg raised his glass to his lips as he scanned the crowd, his eyes moving from face to face in a methodical fashion. He allowed himself to take his time, to really look and evaluate the occupants of this strange new land. After all, whatever tonight would bring, he was at least guaranteed a bed for the night. Knowing that he had a warm body waiting for him, whether it would be Nora or Scott, it didn't really matter - he didn't feel any of the desperate longing that was clearly displayed on some of these men's faces. Greg found himself going through an arbitrary listing of physical characteristics as he looked from man to man, attempting to gain an understanding of what he even found attractive in the human male. That one was too pretty, while this one was definitely not pretty enough...too hairy, too skinny, too muscle-bound, too flabby... Too...  _Oh._

_'Well, hello there.'_

He was standing against the wall with his arms folded over his chest, his hair a light brown and cut on the shaggier side but still neat as it didn't obscure his face. Early thirties, perhaps? His features were classically English, the nose perhaps a bit beaky, but a firm chin and jawline compensated for that nicely. He looked to be a few inches over six-foot, certainly taller than Greg and maybe even taller than anyone else in the room, but it was hard to tell what with the somewhat petulant manner in which he was holding himself. The shifting light revealed his figure to be lean but not scrawny, his tight t-shirt highlighting a nicely sculpted chest and strong but not bulky arms. A somewhat plain young man approached the object of Greg’s regard and laid a hand on his upper arm flirtatiously as he continued to evaluate him, feeling a swift spike of anger or perhaps even jealousy in his belly. If only he could be so bold... The man turned away slightly to lean down to the shorter man's ear, and Greg hummed low as he got an eyeful of muscular back tapering down into a trim waist above a very tasty-looking arse.

 _'Nice. Very nice indeed.'_ Greg watched with a little smirk as the man turned down his admirer, gently shaking his head and leaning up against the wall again. His face showed his, well - not exactly disappointment, but something more like dissatisfaction. While he didn't seem to be finding what he was looking for, he clearly wasn't going to settle, either. His eyes roamed the floor again, searching, seeking in the mass of writhing bodies before starting to scan the edges of the room. Suddenly his eyes were locked on Greg's over the lip of his pint, and that vaguely dissatisfied look was exchanged for one of clear interest. Greg abruptly knocked back the rest of his bitter, breaking the eye contact and turning back to the bar to put his empty glass down on the tabletop.

_'Breathe. Just breathe.'_

Sure enough, it was only a few moments later that a firm hand landed on his shoulder and a certain someone was leaning in to his ear. "Come dance with me." 

Greg turned his head slightly to meet warm hazel eyes, shaking his head slightly even as his breath hitched in his chest. "I'm rubbish."

The man moved in a bit closer, his generous lips pulling up into a teasing smile. "I very much doubt that." Greg leant back to scan the man's face, finding his expression to be open and inviting. He pulled Greg in closer again to be heard clearly over the music. "I'm Edward. Please, I'd very much like to dance with you." His manner was oddly formal, and Greg knew that if he refused again, this Edward wouldn't push. For some reason, this greatly helped to put him at ease.

Greg waved a hand vaguely as his resolve to keep his bum planted on his stool wavered. "I have a..." What - just what _did_ he have, anyway? A man, a boyfriend, a one-night stand?

Edward seemed to understand, as his lips quirked up slightly. "Only a dance. No pressure."

Greg nodded with a quiet sigh, standing and holding out his hand. "Greg. Now, don't you laugh at me."

Edward looked affronted as he shook his hand firmly. "I would never."

Greg could only chuckle at the look on his face as he allowed himself to be led to the dance floor, Edward's hand splayed over his lower back. He manoeuvred them into a relatively clear space and then turned Greg to face him, placing Greg's right hand on his left shoulder before taking hold of his waist with his left hand. Then Edward clasped his left hand in his right, holding them out as Greg’s eyebrows travelled upwards in disbelief. Was he actually treating this boisterous club as some sort of ballroom? Edward kept his expression serious as he looked down at him, but his eyes were twinkling with mirth.

Greg could only throw his head back and laugh as Edward took the first step, confident in his obvious ability. There were a couple of awkward stumbles as Greg fought his instinctive urge to lead, but he quickly got the hang of catching Edward's cues and moving backward. The tempo of the music had slowed a bit, and Edward kept their steps flowing in time to the beats. He was really quite skilled at leading them through and around the men on the dance floor while still maintaining a somewhat easy rhythm. Before too long Edward had cleverly pulled Greg in close, his hand firm on the small of his back. Greg's hand had moved to the back of Edward's neck, their clasped hands trapped between their bodies, offering just a modicum of civility.

Edward stilled their feet as the tempo of the music increased, but he kept their bodies swaying together gently as he leant down close to Greg's ear. "You move very well." Greg’s cheeks filled with blood as he shook his head awkwardly. "You are a wonderful dance partner, Greg."

He turned his head, putting his mouth to Edward's ear, his head spinning at the waves of warmth radiating from his absurdly tall figure. "No I'm not. You're remarkable. I was just following your lead." Greg bit his lip as his fingers caressed Edward's neck, playing with the hair at his nape. God, but he wanted to sink both of his hands into it and just - pull.

"Hmm. I can see that I may need to convince you, somehow." With that, he took up the dance again, whirling and spinning until Greg was nearly dizzy with the motion. Then he dipped his dance partner backward at an alarmingly precarious angle, making him giggle helplessly until Edward pulled him upright again.

"What is this, some sodding romance novel?"

Edward grinned at him rakishly. "Of course. I am attempting to sweep you off your feet - literally. How am I doing?"

"Far too well." Greg glanced up into Edward's eyes and away again quickly. "If I hadn't already said that I'd be going home with someone..."

Edward’s grin sharpened. "Well, he isn't here now, is he?"

"No, he's otherwise occupied for the moment." Greg waved a hand in the direction of the back rooms.

Edward's eyes suddenly narrowed as his grin faltered slightly. "Scott?"

Greg blinked in mild surprise. "Oh, do you know him?"

"Mm." Edward laughed quietly and nodded. "You could say that, yes. It can be a rather small community at times." He gestured broadly at the men surrounding them on the dance floor. “It sometimes seems like we've all dated one another at some point." He looked down at Greg with a curious tilt to his head. "I wouldn't have taken you for his type."

Greg swallowed uneasily. "And what type's that?"

"Young. Easily suggestible." Edward smiled tightly, showing his teeth. "Submissive." He quickly turned Greg around, pressing up against his back. Snaking his left arm around his waist and the other around his shoulders, he lowered his mouth to Greg's ear. "Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course. I just prefer that my partners have minds of their own."

He began to move with and against Greg slowly, sensuously. Where the previous dance had been light, whimsical, and yes, romantic, this - well, this was nothing but sex with clothes on. Greg could feel every shifting muscle in the body behind him, basking in the heat of him and the rough sharpness of his stubble against his cheek, inhaling the aroma of his aftershave and shampoo and skin. It was heavenly. He laid his arm over the one wrapped around his waist and twined their fingers together. His right hand came to rest on Edward's thigh, sliding against and gripping the fabric of his jeans. He pressed closer into him, deliberately rolling his hips against the growing bulge that was digging into his arse. Edward made a noise in his ear, nothing short of a strangled groan. Greg let his head fall back against Edward's shoulder, closing his eyes and just letting conscious thought drift away as he allowed himself to _feel_.

Whenever he had been dragged out to places like this by his wife or friends on the pull, they had been profoundly uncomfortable experiences. Greg had always felt awkward and ungainly on the dance floor, completely out of his depth. Here, though, it felt natural - right. He marvelled again that something so simple had eluded his grasp for so long. He was a _detective_ , for fuck's sake. He could sift through evidence and testimonies, could read people's faces and body language and he could bloody well _figure shit out_. But this - all the evidence that he had chosen to ignore over the years was figuratively smacking him in the face and now, _now_ he was finally getting it. How could he have been so bloody _stupid_?

All thought, conscious or otherwise, suddenly faded as Edward leant down and ran his nose along the shell of Greg's ear. His hot breath shuddered against Greg's neck and he felt his entire body erupt in gooseflesh, making him shiver and push back against Edward’s solid body, clutching at his thigh and arm. Edward's arms tightened around him and he growled low into Greg's ear, inducing another wave of gooseflesh, a delicious frisson tingling between their bodies. Then Greg felt hot lips on his skin, bestowing delicate, almost chaste kisses behind his ear and along the back of his neck. He moaned quietly and rolled his head to the side, exposing the column of his neck, wordlessly demanding more. Edward didn't hesitate to take advantage of the overt invitation, licking and nibbling at his earlobe before opening his mouth wide and simply biting down on the taut muscle.

Greg was suddenly, achingly hard in his jeans as his knees wobbled dangerously. If not for Edward's grip on his body, he was absolutely sure that he would have fallen. He groaned aloud, desperately pleading thoughts crowding through his mind. _'Oh, Jesus, please. Please don't let me come in my pants in the middle of this crowd in a bloody gay club in bloody Soho. Please oh please...'_

Edward's voice was a low growl in his ear, each hot syllable striking at his groin, making him burn with need. "God, you feel _magnificent_. And you smell _delicious_. I haven't wanted anyone like this in a very, very long time. Forget Scott. Come home with me."

Greg opened his mouth to protest, to say that he was a man of his word, but then found that there was no need, as Scott was suddenly standing right there in front of him. His exertions with Sherlock had left him flushed and dishevelled, and going by the bulge in his trousers, extremely turned on. He stepped in close, completely ignoring Edward as he took Greg's face in his hands and just snogged the holy hell right out of him. He felt Edward tense up behind him and his grip lessen, but Greg didn't let him move away, keeping firm hold of his hand even as his mouth was invaded roughly.

Just when Greg thought that he might pass out, either from lack of air in his lungs or a lack of blood to his brain, Scott released him and finally acknowledged Edward’s presence with a stony glance.

"Poaching again, Edward?" Greg rocked back slightly at the venom in his tone and the odd feeling of being little more than a pawn between the two men. Edward must have felt the uncertainty in his posture, as he took a small half-step back, leaving his hold loose and giving his dance partner an easy way to escape if he wanted. But Greg moved with him, seeking to maintain contact with the warmth of Edward’s body, subconsciously making his choice quite clear. Scott’s attention shifted to Greg’s face, seeing the hurt and determination there, and something seemed to shutter closed behind his eyes.

Edward huffed quietly, trying to keep the pride of his unseemly victory out of his voice. "He isn't prey, Scott. He was sitting alone, and I asked him to dance. That's all."

Scott rolled his eyes and flapped a hand dismissively. "God, are you still working that ridiculous dance angle?"

Greg finally found his voice, although it was rather flat. "It's very effective." He leant back against Edward meaningfully and eyed Scott warily as he pursed his lips in annoyance. Greg studied his face, still drawn to his eyes, but reading something darker under the warmth that he had witnessed earlier in the evening. "I'd like to see him."

Scott blinked in confusion. "See who?"

"Sherlock. I think I want - no, I _need_ to know what you're capable of." Scott's face seem to shut down even further, becoming something stony and immovable.

Edward heaved a deep breath at his back before putting his mouth to Greg's ear. "Are you sure?"

Greg nodded decisively. “Absolutely, yeah.”

Scott's eyes closed briefly, resignation passing over his features. "All right. After you."

Greg stepped out of the protective circle of Edward's arms and looked back at him uncertainly. "Um... Wait for me?" Edward gave him a little reassuring smile and nodded, stepping backward to lean up against the wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg has a moment with Sherlock...

Greg followed him past the bar, back down the mysterious hallway. Scott hesitated at the door, looking back at him uncertainly.

"Greg, I..." His eyes searched Greg's face, his voice faltering in his throat before his shoulders straightened almost imperceptibly. "I'm sorry."

"For?"

Scott sighed heavily. "I know that you after you walk through this door, you aren't going to like me very much. So, I'm sorry. Please remember that whatever you see in there was delivered with express consent, and even encouragement."

"That doesn't necessarily make it right."

"To someone like you, perhaps not."

Greg tilted his head. "Like me?"

"Someone with a heart." Scott smiled crookedly, but it didn't touch his eyes, making his expression rather bleak.

"Scott..." Greg reached out to take his hand, wincing slightly at the coolness of his touch. "Don't say things like that. You aren't a heartless bastard. You didn't have to meet up with me tonight, but you did.” Greg smirked slightly. “I mean, I know you were hoping for a certain outcome, but still... You knew that I was struggling, and you willingly took time out of your day to help me. We just aren't... Oh, I don't know."

"Wired the same?"

"That's one way to put it." Greg struggled to find the right words, hardly even sure of what he was aiming for himself. "Look, I'm an all-or-nothing kind of bloke."

"I know. And I think you would have been okay with the idea of the occasional spanking, but _this_ \- this you will not be okay with. Therefore, you will not be okay with _me_." Greg moved in to kiss him, some sense of desperation driving his action, but Scott just pulled back abruptly. "No. God, that will make this ten times worse. Just - go on. Maybe we'll see each other again." He pushed the door open and then resolutely turned away, walking back into the club without looking back.

Greg stood there for a while, trying to understand how the tone of the evening had changed so rapidly. Then he slipped into the room and shut the door behind him, taking a moment to lean against it and breathe before turning around. Sherlock was stretched out his belly on the black leather sofa, still clad in nothing more than his dirty pants, his head pillowed on his crossed arms. Greg stepped closer, swallowing uneasily as his breath caught in his throat. He looked down in horror at the deep red welts criss-crossed over Sherlock's scrawny back and down the backs of his legs. Some were already turning a vibrant blue-purple around the edges, and a particularly deep stripe across his right shoulder blade was weeping blood.

Greg's steps faltered and he sank to his knees by Sherlock's head, watching as he took in shallow, shuddering breaths. He could hear a low moan on each exhale, but whether of pleasure or pain, it was impossible to tell. Greg lifted his hand and held it a few inches above Sherlock's skin, almost scorching his palm with the heat that was radiating from his abused flesh. He felt his gorge rising, hastily closing his eyes and breathing deep through his nose to fight it.

Scott had been right, of course. Whatever physical attraction existed between them, there was no way that Greg would have been able to be intimate with someone so cruel. The fact that Sherlock had submitted to it meant nothing to him, even though he knew absolutely that there was a piece of this whole scenario that he was missing. He didn't care. You just don’t treat people this way, not as far as he was concerned.

Once Greg had managed to stabilise both his stomach and his head, he opened his eyes to find Sherlock's pale gaze fixed on him rather intently.

"God, your face. You look _pathetic_." His voice, although cracked and wispy, was full of scorn. "Not much fun, this caring lark."

"Who did this to you?"

Sherlock's face took on an almost comically incredulous expression. "Are you really that dense? You left me in this room with the very person. Not much of a detective, are you?"

"No, you _arse_. Not this." Greg waved a hand over Sherlock's body. "Who broke you? Who taught you that not caring was the only answer?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed dangerously, his lips twisting. "I'm not broken, officer _sir_. I function perfectly well."

"Not right now you don't. You're lying in the back room of a bloody gay club, completely black and blue. I'd be surprised if you could even move, much less 'function'." Greg shook his head helplessly, his hands clutching at his own thighs. _"Idiot."_

Sherlock's eyes widened abruptly as he started to take in a deep breath, no doubt to verbally rip into the man kneeling by his side, but his ribs stretching to accommodate his lungs clearly delivered a fresh bout of pain. Shocked at his own actions, he could only let the air out slowly with a strangled gasp.

 _"Fuck."_ He struggled to control his breathing again, his eyes rolling with frustration. "Fuckfuckfuck. _Fine._ I concede that you may have a point. Movement is definitely out for the moment."

Greg suddenly giggled, feeling unaccountably relieved. For some reason, enduring the young man's cheek was easing his mind, as it was a sign that he wasn't hurting _too_ badly. Greg gestured at the wound on his shoulder, grimacing slightly. "This one's bleeding. Do you have someone to look after you?"

Sherlock frowned faintly as he tilted his head in vain attempt to survey the damage. "Scott usually stays with me for a while to make sure that everything is okay. He ran out of here right after, though." His bloodshot eyes studied Greg's face, making him squirm slightly. "Must have been your influence." Greg cleared his throat and looked down at his hands. "Ah. But he missed his opportunity, didn't he? Not sharing the extent of his 'hobby' has left you closed to his advances." Greg quickly looked up again to scrutinise Sherlock's face, surprised to see that it was a bit smug. "Too bad. I'm sure he's quite skilled. At the sex part, I mean."

"What, you've never?"

"I hardly think that's an appropriate question, officer."

"Call me Greg, you git. Or Lestrade, if given names are too familiar for you."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and huffed melodramatically. "Antiseptic and bandages in that cabinet. Since you're so concerned with my welfare and all."

Greg glanced over his shoulder and stood, crossing over to a simple flat-pack kind of affair, a bit wobbly on its stand, reaching for the middle drawer.

"Top drawer, Lestrade. You won't like what you see in that one."

Greg swallowed and opened the top drawer instead, looking down into a riot of brightly coloured packets of condoms, single-use packets of lube, and clean flannels all nestled next to small bottles of antiseptic and cotton wool. He rummaged a bit and managed to unearth a small jar of liniment as well. That should help with the bruising, at least... He started to close the drawer, but quickly decided to grab a couple of packs of condoms.  After all, if Edward was still waiting for him, then he might as well be prepared... Right?

He turned around, stuffing the packets into his pocket and studiously ignoring the smirk on Sherlock's face as he once again went down on his knees by his side.

"Shut it, you." Sherlock shrugged as much as he was able and then hissed air through his teeth as the antiseptic bit into his wound. "Steady on. Stop wriggling so much, you bloody beanpole."

Sherlock glared and shoved his face into the protection of his arms, struggling to maintain some sense of distance. Greg could hear the curses being muffled into the sofa, but at least his impromptu patient wasn't squirming quite as much. Once he was sure that the cut was as clean as it could be, he taped a bandage over it and then opened the jar of muscle salve. His eyes watered slightly at the strong medicinal odour, but he squinted and resolutely dipped his fingers into it anyway. Starting on the back of Sherlock's left thigh, Greg deliberately circled his fingertips lightly along the long muscle, liberally spreading the liniment over his skin. Sherlock stiffened abruptly, but then relaxed almost against his will as Greg applied steady pressure with both hands, massaging out the knots under the flowering bruises and kneading the medicine deep into the muscle.

"That's - _oh_."

Greg smiled, warmth filling his chest. "Nice?"

"Mm." Sherlock nodded reluctantly, sighing softly as Greg started to work on his right leg. "Scott never - "

"I can't say I'm surprised. This will make it easier for you to move later. I expect that Scott would want you to remember what he had done to you, not make it easier for you to forget."

"Hm. Point taken." Sherlock groaned as Greg moved up to his lower back. "God, your hands are so _warm_..." Greg hesitated briefly, running his fingers along the waistband of Sherlock's pants. His mind hovered over the idea of just lifting them and taking a little look-see, but he knew that idea was just a bit not on.

"Did he hit you here?"

"What?" Sherlock's voice was curt, clearly irritated at the delay in his makeshift physical therapy.

Greg laid his hand gently on one arse-cheek, applying the lightest of pressure. "Here."

Sherlock squirmed uneasily, a rosy glow lighting up the back of his neck and flowing over his shoulders. "No. That's one of my limits. If I leave my pants on, he can't hit me there. Clothing means 'no'."

Greg nodded and moved his attentions to Sherlock's back with a quiet hum of acknowledgement.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you doing this?"

Greg hesitated, tracing one finger up Sherlock's spine, eliciting a shiver and a gasp. "I don't like seeing people in pain. And I like to feel useful, I guess." He shrugged and dipped his fingers in the jar again, starting to work on the broad spread of Sherlock’s bony ribs. His patient turned his head as much as he was able and surveyed Greg from the corner of his eye, his gaze piercing. Greg cleared his throat, keeping his head bent to his task and his face hidden. "Do you have anywhere to stay tonight?"

Sherlock huffed out a quiet laugh of disbelief. "You want me to come home with you?"

Greg affected a shrug. "Not particularly. Underneath this ghastly medical smell, your personal aroma is rather like that of a brick shithouse. Nora wouldn't appreciate that smell in her guest room."

Sherlock glared. "Then why ask?"

"Because I want to make sure you're safe, Sherlock. And just - well... If you didn't have anywhere, then yes. You can come home with me. After all, it's just as much my home as it is hers."

Sherlock relaxed only slightly. "No, they'll let me stay here tonight. I'll be fine, damn you."

Greg felt his eyebrows rising at the tone of the young man’s voice. "Damn me?" He worked his hands higher, avoiding the bandage as much as possible. Sherlock tipped his head forward, almost reluctantly, to allow Greg easier access to his neck and shoulders.

Sherlock mumbled his response into the leather of the sofa. Greg stopped rubbing, sitting back on his heels and putting his hand on the back of Sherlock's head, his fingertips still massaging in light circles. "Sherlock? Look at me." Sherlock shook his head curtly, continuing to mutter to himself. "Please?"

Sherlock heaved a sigh and then pulled himself out of the shelter of his arms to look into Greg's face. His eyes were a little watery, but his pupils were dilated and his cheeks flushed. " _Damn_ you. Because you could have me. Right here, out in the street, safe in your home. You could _have_ me. But you won't, because you're so damn _chivalrous_. I'm wounded, I'm broken, and it just wouldn't feel right to you so you won't." He turned on his side abruptly, wincing slightly as the movement tugged at his welts. "Look at what you've _done_ to me." Though covered, his physical reaction to Greg’s ministrations was quite large and rather obvious. He flopped back down onto his stomach and groaned in mortification. "This doesn't happen. Not to me. But you - _dammit_. This _stupid_ body and its _stupid_ desires. And you and your _stupid_ kindness. Damn you all to _hell_."

Greg just blinked at him, too astounded to even respond. It was obvious to him that Sherlock wasn't used to his body responding to simple touch like that, and it wasn't like Greg had even meant anything by it, not really. He had intended to bestow some sort of comfort, perhaps, but that was all. Greg wasn't even attracted to this young man, even though he knew that he was still figuring out what that even meant to him. He didn't think so, anyway - he was a little too young, for one thing; all lanky bones and greasy curls. He was too - ephemeral, not solid and real.

"Sherlock - I..."

" _Shut up_. I know. I know you didn't mean anything by it, that you just wanted to help me, that you don't want me, especially in this state. I know that right now you have someone else waiting outside that door, but you're content to let him wait until you know that I'll be all right. I know that you're a fucking _kind_ man and that right now I want you so bad it _hurts_ , but that it isn't going to happen, not even if I beg, which is something that I do _not_ do. So just shut up and go away and leave me in peace because I will be just fucking _fine_!"

He deliberately turned his head and body away from Greg then, closing his eyes and curling in on himself a little, or as much as his bruised body would allow, anyway. Greg just knelt there on the floor next to him, feeling stunned. A million thoughts were running through his mind, but absolutely nothing was coalescing into clear understanding. Every time he would take a breath to prepare to speak, Sherlock would actually flinch away, and Greg's mind would once again go completely blank. He came to the realisation that there was nothing left to say, and so he stood, shaking the pins and needles out of his legs.

Greg looked around as he ran his fingers through his hair, noticing his card laying atop the pile of Sherlock's clothing. He picked it up and took a pen out of his pocket, quickly scribbling his address on the back. He went back to the young man huddled in on himself and took his hand, putting the card in it and then watching as Sherlock folded his fingers around it and brought it to his chest, his eyes still screwed shut. Greg leant down after the shortest of pauses to brush his lips against Sherlock's temple. Greg sighed deeply as Sherlock flinched away from him again, his breath hissing through his teeth.

"Don't lose that." Greg watched as Sherlock's fingers tightened and he shook his head, ever so slightly. He straightened up and headed for the door, fighting the urge to go back and gather that damn fool up into his arms, no matter how stinky or greasy he might be. But Edward was there when he opened the door, leaning up against the opposite wall of the hallway, obviously waiting patiently. He quickly stepped forward just as Greg started to look back at Sherlock, and took his chin in his hand, gently turning his face up to his.

"No. Leave him be. He needs to let it out, and he won't as long as you're there." Greg just looked up at him, his own eyes beginning to well up with something he didn't quite understand. Edward led him forward into a one-armed embrace, leaning in and closing the door behind him firmly. And then he simply wrapped his arms around Greg and held him, rocking their bodies together slightly. When Greg's trembling had subsided, he looked down at him and smiled softly.

"Come dance with me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg ponders the evening, and gets a little action...

"Come dance with me."

Greg couldn't help but smile, even if his chest was feeling unusually tight. "I'd love to."

Edward led them to a quiet corner just off the entrance to the back corridor. Once there, he took Greg's waist in his hands and started moving in a simple box step, nothing too fancy or complicated, just small repetitive motions. Greg placed his hands on Edward's shoulders and allowed his mind to drift, giving control of his feet over to his dance partner so he could hopefully sort out the mess in his head.

This whole night had been one emotional blow after another, and his mind was simply reeling with it. First there had been the anticipation and nervousness of meeting Scott alone, just trying to comprehend what he was even feeling. And the bit about his Mum earlier in the café - he honestly hadn't thought about her in years. How had he let that happen? Then in the midst of a revealing conversation, the realisation that he had been denying Nora so much. She thought she knew him, but he'd been holding back, even if it was subconsciously. That would have to change, obviously. No matter what actually happened tonight, he wasn't hiding it any more, whatever _it_ turned out to be. They were married, after all, and so they would have to work it out together.

And then, coming back to this club and meeting that impossibly-named and unbearably rude enigma, Sherlock. There had been a draw there for Greg, some sort of magnetic pull toward the young man, but he didn't know why. He was extraordinary, Greg understood at least that much, sensing it at some basic level. But he was also damaged, perhaps even irrevocably so. Sure, Greg wanted to help where he could, but he also knew better than to be pulled into anybody else's self-destructive patterns, especially a virtual stranger. He'd seen such situations happen before, knew intimately how it had affected families and loved ones, and it had nearly broken his heart on several occasions.

Seeing the troubled lad again, after Scott had - well - God. Just the sight of that all-too-skinny body had sickened him. Not just to see the pattern of angry welts rising on that pale skin, but recognising that Sherlock had clearly believed that he didn't deserve any better. Maybe that's why Greg had felt compelled to touch him as he had. He had felt a need to somehow prove to Sherlock that he was worth all of that and more. Damn. Greg felt his feet falter as a thought struck him. Maybe he should go back and... No. No, he couldn't. He knew that it would feel like taking advantage, even after hearing Sherlock’s reluctant but heartfelt admission. He'd never be able to forgive himself.

And somewhere during all of that, he had met Edward and had begun to feel the stirrings of physical desire. Scott had awakened something in him, something base and animalistic, but whatever it was hadn't made Greg's knees buckle in the same way that Edward had. His feelings for him were more than basic lust, perhaps more like genuine desire. Edward had clearly been looking for something special, and he had apparently chosen Greg to bestow his energies upon, who was nothing special at all as far as he was concerned. His attentions had been flattering, and rather sweet. Even now, here he was, just dancing with him, with no outward pressure or expectations - just offering comfort the only way he could at the moment.

Greg felt his shoulders sagging a bit as his body was gently pushed and pulled to the rhythm of the music playing at the edges of his senses. Hell, but he was knackered. Perhaps he should just go home? No. Greg shook off that thought as soon as it flitted through his mind. He still wanted Edward, still wanted to see where this night might lead. Nobody said the first time had to be anything special, right? It wouldn't be the only occasion during which he might be a little less than enthusiastic during sex. Greg sighed as he felt the cobwebs in his mind beginning to clear, and he crowded in a little closer to Edward, settling his arms around his neck decisively.

"Just what I needed." Edward smiled, his hazel eyes brightening. Greg smiled back, something a little more tentative than his usual cheeky grin. He nodded his head toward the hallway. "Do you happen to know Sherlock at all?"

Edward waggled his head from side to side. "I wouldn't say we were mates, but yeah - I know a little. We played together with Scott a time or two, oh, a couple of years back. After one particular session, he opened up to me a bit. Not sure why, as he's really not the emotional sort, but then a good beating sometimes has unexpected effects. He's very...interesting."

Greg snorted. "That's one way of putting it, I suppose." He swallowed, uneasily avoiding eye contact. "Did you see?"

"His back? Yeah, I saw. Believe it or not, I've seen worse." Edward hesitated even as he kept their feet moving. "Greg... You do know that anything that happened in there, it was because Sherlock wanted it, right? He could have put a stop to it at any time. Scott may be a bit of a jackass at times, but he's not a monster, and he always follows the rules."

Greg nodded. "I _know_ that, yes." He tapped the side of his head, but then moved his finger to his chest. "But I don't _feel_ it." He dropped his gaze from Edward's face again, a sudden urge to nose into the hollow of his throat seizing him.

"I saw something else too." Greg looked up inquisitively, licking his lips and grinning internally as Edward’s breath caught in his chest. "I - ahem - saw that you got to him somehow."

"Um, yeah... I guess I did.” Greg tried to shrug it off. “He offered himself to me. Well, more or less. It was kind of odd."

Edward stopped stock-still so suddenly that Greg nearly tripped over his own feet. "He did _what_?"

"Uh... He said I could have him, but he knew that I wouldn't because he was hurt. It was weird. He was actually kind of pissed off about it." Edward was just staring, mouth slightly agape, making Greg fidget awkwardly. "Edward, just what are you on about?"

Edward shook himself back into awareness. "I'm sorry - of course you don't understand. Sherlock... He just doesn't _do_ that. Sex... It just isn't even a factor in his life. That's why Scott was so worked up - he always is after a session with Sherlock. He has a hard limit on any sexual activity. No wanking, no nothing. Wow. I mean... _wow_. I'm totally gobsmacked."

"I can tell." Greg's voice came out drier than he intended, and also with a note of amusement in it that he didn't bother to hide.

" _Wow_. Sorry. Just...wow." Edward stared into Greg's eyes, pinning him to the spot. "I've half a mind to send you back in there. Heaven only knows that fool could do with some love in his life. However..." He leant into Greg and growled into his ear, all politeness vanishing in an instant. "If I did that, then I wouldn't be able to take you home with me and do _unspeakable_ things to you."

And just like that, Greg was no longer tired. Warmth bloomed from the root of his cock and spread through his entire body, leaving his nerves singing. Without thinking about it too hard, he tightened his fingers on the nape of Edward's neck and brought their lips together hard. Mindless desire left them both clumsy, and the kiss was inelegant, wet and messy. It was open-mouthed, their tongues flickering and searching and questing, hardly making any difference as to where they ended up. It was rough and coarse and rude and utterly perfect.

Greg snarled and shoved Edward up against the nearest wall, his hands wrapped firmly around his upper arms. He pressed into him, writhing as much of his body against him as possible, wanting to feel everything and right fucking now, dammit. Edward moaned low in his throat, going a little limp against the upright surface as Greg rubbed their hardening cocks together mercilessly. Greg pulled back slightly, revelling in the look of complete and utter surrender on Edward's face.

"Take me home." Edward nodded breathlessly and leant back into him, taking his face into his hands for another deep kiss. Greg broke it off with another impatient snarl. "Now. Take me home _now_ , dammit."

Edward grinned easily and grabbed his hand before hurriedly leading them out of the club and into the night air. It was far chillier than it had been earlier and the shock of it smacked a little bit of sense back into Greg’s head. Oh, he was still going to go home with Edward; the way he felt now, he'd follow him into Hell. But at least he was perhaps just a _bit_ calmer.

That changed suddenly as Edward abruptly tugged him into a darkened alleyway and shoved him up against the brick building. Any objections were wiped off Greg’s lips as Edward leant in to bite at his neck, sucking with light intent. Large, deft hands were tugging his shirt out of his waistband and then those hands were on his bare flesh and they were hot and oh _God_ that was good. Nimble fingers flicking and twisting his nipples and hot wetness at his ears and on his neck and mouth and _Christ_ but he'd never been so hard in all his life.

Then those hot hands were at his belt, releasing the catch and deftly drawing down the zip on his jeans. He fumbled, somehow managing to grab hold of Edward's wrist and squeezing out a warning. "Wait." Edward stopped immediately, pulling back in the dim light so they could see one another. Greg shuddered at the look on Edward's face, his pupils blown wide and cheeks flushed with anticipation. His lips were swollen and as Greg watched, his pink tongue flickered out and licked them nervously. Greg glanced down at the hand held fast in his. "I..." He heaved out a sigh, determining just to get the confession over and done with. "I've never done this before. With a man, I mean."

Edward blinked slowly, not quite in disbelief. Then he leant in again, his breath hot and shuddering against Greg's skin. "I have you. Just trust me?" Greg breathed deep, and nodded curtly as he released his hold on Edward's wrist. His hand twisted deftly, plunging into Greg's pants as he took hold. Greg groaned into Edward's mouth as strong fingers wrapped around his cock and squeezed. Then they released, moving down to stroke the silky skin of his bollocks. Suddenly, Greg was quite relieved that he had worn the baggy old jeans instead of the newer and considerably tighter pair.

Then Edward was sliding down his body, kneeling easily on the pavement in front of him. The breath caught in Greg's throat as Edward shoved his pants down just enough to release his cock. He drew out his bollocks as well, gently rolling them in his hand before leaning in and sucking one into his mouth. He hummed around it, massaging the heavy lump with his tongue. Greg wobbled, immediately placing his hands on Edward's broad shoulders to keep himself upright.

_"Christ."_

Edward gave his other bollock a quick kiss and a hum before taking Greg's cock in hand and licking one long wet stripe from root to tip on the underside. He swirled his tongue around the head briefly before simply engulfing the whole length in his mouth, opening his throat wide to accommodate his thickness. He sucked hard as he moved up, coming off the head with a small pop.

"Oh, _Jesus_." Greg lifted Edward's chin, trying to maintain some level of composure as he caught sight of his slickened mouth. "I'm really not going to last too long if you keep that up." Edward grinned, and sucked him down again without delay, applying his tongue to the underside, and a tiny bit of teeth to the upper. Greg sucked in a quick breath at the sensation. " _Fuck_. That's good. That's - _ngh_." His hips twitched impatiently, longing to just give in and thrust for all he was worth. But he didn't have to, as Edward increased his tempo and suction, swirling his tongue around the head on every down-stroke. His hand reached behind Greg's bollocks, applying just a bit of pressure on his perineum. "Oh _fuck_ I'm - _I'm..._ " Edward pressed down firmly and rubbed, feeling a sense of satisfaction as Greg’s lovely cock grew harder in his mouth before twitching wildly, spending down his throat. Greg's vision went white for a moment and when he came back to himself he took note of the fact that Edward was still on his knees in front of him.

He hiked up his pants with a shaky sigh and slid down the wall, thankful for the support at his back. Crouching in front of Edward, Greg saw that he'd undone his own fly and had taken himself in hand, and he was stroking himself furiously. "Oh, _hey_ \- wait." He reached out to lift Edward's chin, but as their eyes met, he came explosively, spurting all over his hand and the ground. Greg laughed quietly even as his eyes went wide. "I... I was gonna return the favour."

Edward smiled faintly, his chest heaving for breath. "Oh, you still can. Later. This way, we'll be able to take our time when we get back to mine." He stared down at the mess on his hand, shaking his head. "Hm. I'm not usually this impatient."

Greg frowned slightly and took hold of Edward's hand, sniffing at it curiously, before sticking out his tongue and touching just the tip to a splatter of come. Edward made an odd noise as he watched, a sort of half moan and giggle in one. Greg sat back and seemed to roll the taste around in his mouth a bit before simply licking Edward's hand completely clean, sucking down each of his fingers one by one. As he let Edward's pinky finger slide out from between his lips, he lifted his eyes to find Edward staring, completely transfixed.

"Jesus. That was one of the hottest things I've ever witnessed." Greg grinned, pleased with himself and pleasantly surprised that he actually seemed to enjoy the bittersweet salty tang of another man’s come. "And that smile - you're a cheeky little bastard, aren't you?"

"Damn straight." Greg leant in for a kiss before hauling them both back up on their feet. After the two men had settled their clothes back into their proper place, he held out his hand firmly. "Home?"

Edward clasped their hands together, tugging him in close for another heady kiss. "God, yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At Edward's place...

They somehow managed to tumble into Edward's flat about five minutes later, hopelessly tangled up in each other. Greg laughed as he glanced around briefly. "Couldn't wait _five_ bloody minutes. Just had to suck me off in a sodding alleyway, din't ya?"

"Your fault for being so damn sexy. Short-circuited my brain."

"And jump-started your cock?"

Edward laughed delightedly as he fisted his hands into Greg's shirt and pulled him in close, practically yanking him up on his toes. "Something like that, yeah." He hummed and ran his nose along Greg's jawline, blowing hot breath in his ear before nibbling on the lobe delicately. Greg groaned and clutched at Edward's waist, rolling their hips together without feeling any immediate urgency.

Edward sighed into his ear. "Oh, that's lovely." He rubbed up against Greg languidly. "You're already getting hard again."

"You too."

"Mm. I have a feeling that we're going to get along just  _splendidly_..." Edward licked and sucked at Greg's neck, still rutting against him slowly, firmly.

"Why me?"

Edward pulled away from Greg's neck reluctantly. "What do you mean?"

"Why'd you choose me? Out of all those blokes." Edward's head cocked to the side as Greg shrugged. "I just don't get it." He gestured down at himself dismissively. "I'm all rumpled and scruffy and they were all..."

"Primped and plucked and polished to within an inch of their lives - like a bunch of shop window dummies. That's why, Greg. You're _real_." He ran his fingers through Greg's hair and tugged gently before starting to work on loosening the buttons of his shirt. "Rumpled and scruffy and looking absolutely divine." Edward buried his nose in Greg's neck again, huffing hot breath over his skin. "You smell like...like - _you_ , not some overpriced cologne."

Greg shivered as Edward's fingers tickled along his sternum and trailed down to the waistband of his jeans. "Oh God."

"Indeed." Edward smirked against Greg's neck before pulling back slightly, his expression taking on a serious overtone. "Now, my brain was a bit overheated at the time, but I could swear you said something about never having done this with a man before..."

"Ah. Yeah, you're remembering correctly."

Edward cocked his head and studied Greg's face before taking a cautious step back. "You aren't going to freak out on me, are you?"

Greg frowned. "Freak out?"

"Gay panic." Edward sighed as Greg's lips pulled down further and his brow furrowed. "Guys who are questioning their sexuality, get a little hot man-on-man action and suddenly decide that 'nope, I _am_ straight after all and what the hell is this fucking faggot doing to me and who the fuck does he think he is and I'm going to beat his face in for even daring to touch me'..."

"That's happened to you?" Greg reached out to caress Edward's face, swallowing against an uneasy feeling low in his chest.

Edward blinked at him. "A couple of times, yeah. I mean the initial panic, not any actual beatings. I don't exactly intimidate easily, and once I was off my knees and standing over them, they seemed to reconsider pretty quickly."

"You are rather...large." Greg put his hand to the back of Edward's neck and pulled him down for a gentle kiss. "No, Edward. I'm not going to freak out on you. I'm not questioning, not really. I - I'm..." He searched for the right word. " _Realising_. I'm just - new." He dipped his head slightly, looking up from under his dark lashes. "I just need to be taught, that's all."

Edward growled and laughed at the same time, the sound doing something to Greg's spine, the muscles in his back tensing and quivering. Edward swooped down and attached himself to Greg's neck again, slipping his shirt off his shoulders as he did so. "Pah. Looking at me like that. You know _exactly_ what to do, you little tart."

Greg chuckled as he pulled at Edward's t-shirt, slipping his hands underneath and boldly caressing bare skin. Edward groaned as Greg's fingers tripped nimbly over his torso, tracing his angles and curves, neatly finding all of the spots that made Edward tremble under his touch. Greg slipped his thumbs into the waistband of Edward's jeans and tugged impatiently at the fabric. "I think that you're wearing far too much clothing."

Edward hummed. "I would agree." He continued to move against Greg, licking and sucking wherever he could easily reach. "However, I don't want to let go of you long enough to remedy that situation."

"Hm. Wouldn't you rather have this naked and writhing on your bed?" At the 'this', he leant back slightly and held his arms out from his body in an all-encompassing gesture. "I know that's where I'd rather be."

Edward laughed again and Greg grinned up at him in delight. He very much liked his trysts to have an element of fun to them, and it was obvious that Edward felt much the same. "I swear you are the biggest tart ever to have tarted, my fine gent." Edward hooked his finger into one of Greg's belt loops and started to tug him toward the bedroom.

Greg's body shivered and he followed without protest. Not that Edward was giving him the opportunity to do anything else, walking backwards through the hallway, his eyes locked on Greg's face, his grip firm on his jeans. He pulled him to the doorway of his bedroom and then released him, flipping on the light. Edward took one step backward, and then another, reaching down to grab the hem of his t-shirt.

He had only managed to pull it halfway up, covering his head, when Greg's hand was suddenly just there, pressed up against the flat planes of his stomach. Edward huffed out a laugh even as he jumped slightly, gooseflesh popping out all along his body. Then his shirt was discarded, and Greg slid his hand upward and to the side, his fingertips dancing along the edges of one healthy pink nipple.

Edward hissed in a short breath as it puckered and stiffened under Greg's gentle exploration. It turned into a breathy moan as Greg dipped his head slightly and took it in his mouth, rolling it between his teeth before tugging firmly, flickering his tongue over the hard nub. Edward's hand came up to thread into the thick hair at the back of Greg's head, his body arching into his touch.

_"Fuck."_

"Yeah?" Greg glanced up at his face, but dropped his eyes quickly. "That's one of Nora's favourites."

"I can see why." Edward's voice had dropped a register, his pupils blown wide with lust. He tightened his grip on Greg's head slightly, using it to tip his face up to his. He kissed him gently. "Wife, yeah? Are you sure you’re okay with this? It's all right if you think you should go home before anything else happens. I won't be offended." He smirked crookedly and tilted his head meaningfully. "As long as you come _back_ , of course."

Greg grinned in reply before sliding his hand down again, swiftly undoing his own belt and zip before working on Edward's. "No. This is where I want to be. Where I _need_ to be."

Edward groaned and brought their mouths together hard as Greg slid his hands into the back of his jeans, cupping his arse-cheeks and giving them a firm squeeze. Edward's hands were everywhere he could touch, pulling Greg's jeans and pants down with one simple tug.

"What do you want, then?"

Greg pulled back to get a good look at Edward's face, feeling his own expression shifting into something very nearly desperate. " _Everything_. I need to know what I've been missing out on all these years."

"Hm. _Some_ things can wait, obviously." He unceremoniously pushed Greg toward the bed, wriggling a bit until he was able to extricate himself out of the remainder of his clothing. Greg stretched out in the middle of the bed, his body shivering slightly with nerves as much as with the chill in the air. That stopped instantly when Edward joined him, eagerly draping his gloriously warm body over Greg's. The first heady slide of hard flesh over his nearly made Greg come then and there and he grabbed at Edward's upper arms for support, stilling his motion, his eyes wide with dismay.

"Too close."

Edward just grinned, chuckling low. "No such thing. We have all night - as long as you need." He reached down, caressing Greg's bollocks with a gentle touch. "I don't think that an over-long recovery time is going to be an issue for either of us. So you come just as many times as you feel like, darling." With that, he reached for the lube, a handy pump-top bottle on prominent display on his bedside table. He slicked both of their cocks and set to work, wrapping one large hand around the both of them and stroking firmly.

Greg's eyes rolled back as his head hit the bed, his body arching and pushing up into that delightfully wicked touch. He did the only thing he could, thrusting his hips into and against Edward's hand and hard cock, his bollocks pulling up tight after a mere five strokes. Greg moaned throatily, shaking his head from side to side helplessly. “Edward...” His voice was both a warning and a plea, and Greg shook his head in time to his thrusts, attempting to stave off the inevitable.

"Oh, I know." Edward released his own cock, running his thumb along Greg's fraenulum gently before increasing the pressure of his fingers, speeding up the rhythm of his strokes. He grinned as Greg's stomach muscles clenched hard, watching as the man underneath him panted through his release, grunting softly with every spurt through Edward's fingers. "Mm."

" _Fuck_. Fuckfuckfuck..."

Edward waved off Greg’s chagrined tone, smiling down at him smugly. "Oh, you'll build up some endurance. You're just a little over-excited, although I must say that it’s doing wonders for my ego." Edward stroked himself lazily as Greg snorted and rolled his eyes. "Now, some blokes like that quite a bit, but it helps if you have nice big hands like mine." He held up his free hand to demonstrate, and Greg grinned as he put their palms together, as Edward's was significantly larger in width and in the reach of his fingers. "Others prefer this." Edward carefully lowered his body down, slotting his still-hard cock against Greg's softening member.

Greg's head fell back again as Edward thrust firmly against his body, his hot cock dragging against his groin and belly. Almost unbidden, his legs fell open and he wrapped them loosely around Edward's waist. Greg slid his arms around Edward's torso, pulling him down and bringing his neck within easy reach of his mouth. Edward growled faintly as Greg tongued under his ear and then lower, opening his mouth wide to bite and suck a vivid mark into his flesh.

Edward panted into Greg's ear, grunting with every quick hard thrust that he delivered. Greg raked his nails down along his spine hard and clutched at Edward's arse, digging his fingers in deep. "Fuck, _yes_. Edward..."

"Mm." Edward gasped as Greg snapped his hips, meeting his motion and grinding against him. "Hard. _Harder_." Edward's arse flexed magnificently under Greg's fingers. "Bruise me. Oh _God_ , yes."

Greg grinned fiercely as he dug his fingernails into Edward's flesh and bit down on his exposed neck hard enough to make his jaw ache. Edward's body twitched wildly and then he was coming, a loud groan forcing its way through his clenched teeth as he spent all over Greg’s stomach.

He collapsed heavily on top of Greg, who released his grip on both neck and arse as he ran his hands gently up and down Edward's back, breathing shallowly against the weight pressing down on him.

Edward started to lever himself up, shaking the sweat from his hair. "Fuck. Sorry. I forget how heavy I am sometimes."

"You're definitely, um, solid." Greg took in a deep and satisfying breath as Edward leant over the side of the bed to snag his t-shirt to aid in clean-up. "But it was surprisingly - comfortable."

Edward stretched his neck as he wiped Greg down carelessly. "Gonna feel that one for a while."

"You asked for it."

"That I did." They grinned at each other like fools before Edward laid down next to Greg, pulling a sheet up over the both of them to keep from getting chilled. Greg rolled slightly, turning his back to Edward, who readily took the invitation and snugged up against him eagerly. "Mm. You're toasty."

Greg sighed. "Yeah." There was silence as he shifted and wriggled, settling himself into the curve of Edward's body. "Never been the little spoon before." Edward chuckled as he brought his arm around, splaying his hand on the soft swell of Greg's lower belly and pulling him in tighter still. "I think I like it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning of, or the morning after?

Edward idly stroked his stomach, his caress light and gentle. "Tell me about yourself, Greg."

"Hm.” Greg pondered briefly, unsure how much he was willing to share, but feeling remarkably at ease at the same time. So what the hell, right? “My name is Gregory Thomas Lestrade. I'm thirty-seven years old, and I am a Detective Constable at New Scotland Yard. I've been married for ten years to a lovely woman, and tomorrow - _er_ , make that later today - I will go home to her and tell her that I'm gay. Although I'm sure it'll shake her up a bit, I'm fairly certain she won't be heartbroken." Greg turned his head slightly and huffed out a half-laugh. "She's been cheating on me for years." Edward snorted. "I can hardly blame her. She knows I'm not fully vested. Haven't been for a while." He fiddled with his wedding ring absentmindedly. "I think we've both held on for far too long." Greg rolled and nudged Edward with his hip. "Now you."

Edward chuckled and pushed himself up on his elbow, his free hand stroking from Greg's collarbone to his navel and back again. "Edward Christopher Walker, at your service. I am thirty-three years old, and I do nothing in particular. Occasional shop-boy, inveterate party-boy. I am, essentially, a useless lump of flesh. But I make up for it by being pretty and a damn good shag besides."

Greg blinked. "How're you living here, then? This is an awfully nice flat for a shop-boy. And in Soho proper..."

"My Dad bought it for me. He's a partner at one of the major finance firms. Same one that Scott works for, in fact. That's how we met - at one of my Dad's _dreadful_ Christmas dos." Edward took in a deep breath. "He and Mother didn't take it so well when I came out. There were a few years there where we didn't speak at all. I think he bought this place out of guilt, and well - he knows I'll never amount to much, so this is his way of making sure I'm taken care of. It's always been easier for him to let his money do the talking." He smiled crookedly down at Greg.

Greg frowned with an inquisitive tilt to his head. "What do you mean, 'never amount to much'? Do you honestly have no ambitions whatsoever? Isn't there something you want to do with your life?"

"I'm pretty much doing it. I live comfortably enough with what money I do make, and I'm having fun at the same time. Why would I _want_ to do anything different?"

"Um..." Greg pondered. "I guess when you put it that way... Different worlds, Edward. Different galaxies, in fact. I've always had to work to get anywhere in life."

"But what you do, solving crimes, helping people - you enjoy it?"

"At this point I really can't imagine doing anything else."

Edward smiled gently, perhaps a little bit sadly. "I don't have anything like that."

Greg shifted in the bed, turning to face Edward, pressing their bodies together. "Maybe we'll find you something." He licked along his collarbone and rolled their groins together with a little moan.

Edward did that odd little laugh-growl, and Greg gasped as the sound once again twisted his spine with desire. "Well, I don't know about that, but I certainly do admire your enthusiasm." Edward's mouth lowered to his, and Greg's eyes fluttered as he let himself get carried away on waves of pure sensation.

They spent the next few hours like that, conversing in between bouts of fevered rutting and languid sucking, even dozing fitfully once or twice. Greg opened puffy and sleep-deprived eyes, groaning as he rubbed at his face before glancing at his watch and cursing quietly. It had gone just past six in the morning. Edward's arm tightened around his waist and Greg felt his breath warm on his neck. "I should go."

" _Mm_. Shower?" Edward sat up, pulling Greg along with him and tucking him into his side, under his arm.

"Probably a good idea. I am rather - sticky."

Edward chuckled and released Greg somewhat reluctantly before nodding toward the doorway to the right. "Through there. Feel free to take as long as you need." His eyebrow quirked up saucily. "Unless you'd like company?"

Greg shook his head as he wobbled up and out of the bed, his brain muffled and legs unsteady. "You stay there, you randy bastard. I am _utterly_ shagged out."

Edward stretched, groaning loud and long as his lips quirked up in a smile. "Me too. Haven't done this in a long time. Sticking around, talking and shagging till dawn." He looked at Greg, his hazel eyes unreadable. "Wish you could stay."

"I could come back. If - if you wanted me to. Probably not today, though. Things to work out, y'know?"

"Of course I want you to. It's not often that I come across someone who can keep up with me." He deliberately deepened his voice and licked his lips. "And there are still things we have yet to do."

Greg shivered as his cock twitched heartily and he sighed heavily as he turned toward the bathroom. "Right then. I guess it's a cold shower for me. _Fucker_." Edward's laughter followed him into the en suite, where he started the shower and climbed in gratefully. He gave himself just a quick scrub-down, peeling off the top layer of sweat and the grimy aftermath of whatever-the-fuck it was that he had just participated in. He felt the stupid grin on his face and fought to suppress it, as it wouldn't do to come home to Nora looking like a besotted fool.

Greg came out of the shower to find his clothes neatly piled up on the toilet, a clean towel over top of it all. He smiled at Edward's not-so-subtle hint. _'Better get dressed so you can make a clean escape.'_ Edward wasn't in the bedroom when Greg emerged, fully dressed aside from his jacket and shoes. He smirked when he saw that Edward had already stripped the bed, the dirty sheets lying balled up on the floor.

He followed the earthy smell of coffee into the kitchen, and got his first good look around. Edward's flat was modern, the structural lines clean and sleek, the appliances all stainless steel. Edward chuckled quietly when he saw the look on Greg's face. "Not exactly the flat of a party-boy, is it?" He gestured with his coffee cup, offering some to Greg, who shook his head. "I do most of my partying at the clubs." He smirked as he looked at Greg over the rim of his cup. "It can be rather dangerous to bring strange men home, don't you know..."

"And who's the tart now?" Greg grinned at Edward's hearty laughter. He didn't allow himself to think of the implications of what Edward had just said, that this might be special somehow. It was just a shag, right? It was far too soon to think that it could be anything else. He found his shoes by the front door, and his jacket thrown over the back of the sofa, a boxy black leather affair. Greg shrugged it on and then stood there with his hands in his pockets, trying not to fidget as his eyes darted here and there. He nodded to the rather large flat-screen television. "Nice telly."

Edward left his cup on the kitchen counter and came over to where Greg was standing, moving directly into his personal bubble with no hesitation. "You're free to come watch it any time." He put a finger under Greg's chin and tipped his face up, bringing his own lips down, oh-so-close. "Any time at _all_."

Greg blinked against Edward's warm, coffee-scented breath, his gaze flickering down to his generous mouth and then back up to his hazel eyes. He snarled quietly. "You are a right sodding _bastard_ , you know that?" Edward didn't have the time to answer in the affirmative before Greg's mouth latched onto his hungrily. Edward sagged onto the back of the sofa, and Greg pressed against him, sucking on his tongue as if his life depended on it. "You - you absolute _arse_." Greg moaned low in his throat as he felt Edward's hands start to roam, clutching at his ribs and under his bum, almost as if he were going to lift him right off his feet. He gasped and pulled away resolutely, his head spinning. "No." Edward immediately released him, his hands held out palm up in a gesture of surrender. Greg whined slightly. "I have to go."

Edward smiled gently, his body held somewhat tensely. "I know. I'm not angry. Honestly." He blew out a quick breath of his own. "By rights we should be drained completely dry and unable to move, not ready for yet _another_ go. Neither of us is eighteen any more." He leant back against the sofa and gave Greg a little push before holding out a piece of paper that he had slipped from his dressing gown pocket. "My mobile. Call me when things have settled. Or y'know. Whenever. Any time." Edward chuckled self-consciously. "Or tomorrow. Yeah, tomorrow's good." He gave Greg another playful shove. "Go on. Get out before I make a complete fool of myself."

Greg grinned as he took one step back and then another. "Too late." He went to the door and opened it, looking back over his shoulder and winking at Edward. Then he was out the door and gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg comes home to find Nora waiting...

Greg didn't bother with trying to keep his noise to a minimum as he was entering the house. After all, it had gone nearly seven in the morning, and Nora had always been an early riser. Not that he thought she would have slept much, with him not having come home after his shift, or even bothering to call.

 _Shit_. Why hadn't he called? Not on, Greg. Very much not on.

So he wasn't at all surprised when he came around the corner to the sitting room and saw Nora on the sofa, waiting for him with arms and legs crossed. Greg sighed quietly. Even after that quick shower at Edward's, he still felt somewhat sticky, and delightfully sore besides. He had really been hoping for a long hot bath and a decent nap before confronting this particular beast of a conversation.

But he was fooling himself to think that he could take it easy, wasn't he? Oh, no, m'lad. Go on, have a cosy bath and a nap and maybe over brekkie you can just casually mention to your wife that the life that she'd been sharing with you for the last ten years had all been a lie. Just a bit of tea and toast and a divorce decree. _Christ_. He already felt like a complete arsehole, and he hadn't even opened his mouth yet.

Nora turned on the sofa to catch his gaze, looking weary, but not unduly upset. Greg cocked his head as he came around to sit on the opposite end of the sofa.

"What's her name?"

Greg couldn't hold back on his wild burst of laughter. He knew it was wildly inappropriate, even without seeing that dangerous flash of anger in her eyes, but he was simply too tired and too worn out to help himself. "Uh, Edward, actually. _His_ name is Edward."

Nora's eyes went impossibly wide for just a moment, her mouth dropping open, and then her brow cleared. She put a hand to her lips and giggled along with Greg. "No shit?"

Greg grinned and spread his arms wide, leaning forward slightly. "No shit."

She slumped against the sofa and sighed deeply as her giggles abated. "Well, _hell_. How long have you known?"

"For certain? About - oh - nine hours or so."

"And you've been shagging nearly that whole time.” She narrowed her gaze. “No use denying it, I recognise that look from our early days."

"I don’t intend to deny anything. Not any more."

Nora's expression turned into something fierce and even a little proud as she looked him over carefully. _"Good."_ Her gaze went a little distant for a moment, memories passing through her eyes. "You know, some things are suddenly making a lot more sense."

"Such as?"

"I dunno. Just the odd vague feeling, really. Like when we'd be out, and a handsome bloke would happen by, you'd turn and look. But then when you turned back, you just looked confused. I thought perhaps mistaken identity, but now that I think on it, it's almost like you were allowing yourself to look, to appreciate, but then you'd immediately forget what you had seen."

Greg cocked his head. "I don't really remember..."

"Exactly. And then there was that infatuation with my ne'er-do-well cousin Gerald, of course."

Greg scoffed quietly. "I was not _infatuated_ , Nora. I just thought that it was admirable that he was finally stepping up and doing something with his life."

"Yeah. Stepping up into the service. When we had that party for him when he came back from basic training, your face lit up like _anything_."

"I was proud of him." Nora snorted and rolled her eyes, making Greg concede with a tiny shrug. "Okay, fine, so it didn't hurt that he had put on a stone of pure muscle, and had shaved off that awful raggedy beard..."

"Didn't hurt at all. Too bad he only did the one term and then went all podgy, huh?" Greg giggled some more, his cheeks beginning to ache with it. Nora shook her head slightly and then her eyes shifted down to her left hand, and then to Greg's, to the matching gold bands they were both wearing.

Greg hastily swallowed his mirth, reaching out to touch her hand gently. "I never meant to lie to you, Nora. Please believe that."

"You haven't. Not really. You were lying to yourself, Greg. I know that. I was just...along for the ride, I guess." Her eyes shifted back to his face, roving over it as though she were memorising his features. "In a way, it's a bit of relief. I thought it was me. Thought I did something wrong, or maybe I wasn't giving you what you needed. It was like I was lacking."

"Well, you were. Lacking somewhat woefully in the _prick_ department, darling." They looked at each other and exploded into giggles again. It was the kind of over-tired laughter that was impossible to contain, leaving them breathless and panting before breaking out all over again.

Greg held a hand to his forehead as he gasped in breath. "Fuck, my head. I am completely knackered."

Nora nodded as she struggled to maintain her composure as well. "Yeah." She sighed and looked around a little sadly. "It's not been a bad life. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy that you're finally figuring shit out, but I'm gonna miss this. I'm gonna miss you."

Greg's head quirked to the side and his eyes narrowed minutely. "Are you?" He registered the brief look of surprise on her face before continuing. "If I thought it could work, I'd suggest we try to stay together. But that wouldn't be fair to either of us." Greg sighed, looking Nora over carefully before deciding to just lay it all out. "So will you be going to stay with your mother, or are you thinking about shacking up with your newest boyfriend?"

Nora flushed bright crimson and neatly avoided his eyes. "I have no idea what you're blithering about."

Greg clucked his tongue in irritation. " _Nora_. Even now you're going to keep lying to me?" She crossed her arms over her chest and looked down at her bare feet, her chin sticking out obstinately. Greg sighed again, heavily. "This is the fourth, in about as many years. You've been seeing him a little less than three months, so it's probably a bit early to actually think about moving in with him, but it might make your transition to single living a little easier. And of course, if you stay with him rather than your mother, you won't have to endure the smug looks and 'I-told-you-so's'."

Nora slid her gaze sideways and then turned to face him deliberately. "You've known all along."

Greg shrugged and gestured to himself broadly. " _Detective_ , Nora. And it's not like you were that subtle. Ladies' Book Club? With nothing but dog-eared bodice-rippers on your night-stand all the time? Of course it was a lie."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because I wasn't giving you what you needed either. And I didn't have anyone else. I was waiting for you to get fed up, I suppose." Greg fiddled with his wedding ring and shrugged helplessly. "We should have given this up as a bad job a long time ago."

Nora sulked quietly for a moment before nodding resignedly. "You're probably right, Greg. But we didn't, and now here we are." She stood and turned to face him, her shoulders squared. "Coming to bed, darling?"

Greg looked up at her, unable to prevent his face from breaking out into another entirely inappropriate grin. "Actually, I need a bath."

She 'tsk'ed at him, but returned his saucy smirk. "Come to bed when you're done. I'll not have you wrecking your back on this sofa, you understand? I may not be in love with you any more, but I don't hate you either." She sighed deeply, her hands dropping to her sides. "I'm not angry. I'm just - tired. I'm very, very tired. And I will miss having you in my bed, so I intend to take full advantage while I can."

"So sorry to be taking your personal heater away."

Nora scoffed and flapped a hand at him dismissively before heading into the bedroom. Greg briefly contemplated just letting his eyes slip closed and passing out where he sat, but no. He was still feeling sticky, and that never made for a pleasant nap. He ducked into the bathroom just as Nora slipped into the bedroom across the hall, and closed the door securely to prevent disturbing her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nice, relaxing bath...

Greg drew the bath a bit hotter than his usual, hoping it would help to ease out some of the knots in his muscles and aches in his joints. What Edward had said was all too true - he wasn't eighteen any more. So what the fuck had last night been all about? Years of repressed sexuality exploding all at once? He didn't think so. There was something about Edward himself that had apparently set Greg off like a bloody gay rocket.

Even now, thinking of nothing more than the way Edward had made him feel inside, his cock was stirring. And that was after, what - four or five shags? More? Greg could barely even remember; it was as if the entire night had been one long bliss-induced haze. He couldn't recall all of the sessions clearly, he just remembered how Edward's hand had felt wrapped around him, the way his broad shoulders had strained and flexed as he thrust against him. Edward's tongue in his mouth, on his cock. The taste of him, God, that first proper taste, so salty-bitter and yet so right.

Greg sighed as he slid down in the water, recalling the first time he had crawled down Edward's body and taken him in his mouth, the flesh thick and silky-smooth against his tongue. Edward had groaned and rocked his hips, directing him with breathless gasps. At the end, when Greg had licked him clean, Edward had called his tongue 'sinful', making him giggle.

He had giggled a lot, mostly when Edward had been demonstrating one of his so-called tricks. He would start with _'Some guys like this'_ , and then he would do something that would make Greg gasp and writhe. And then he'd come back with, _'But most_ **_love_ ** _this'_ , and whatever he did at that moment would make Greg's back arch clear off the bed. Greg had giggled, partially from embarrassment, because no, that noise had most certainly _not_ come from him. Mostly it was in sheer disbelief, as there was no way that any of Edward's lessons were going to be remembered with any clarity, much less repeated without assistance any time soon. Edward had smiled toothily and said,  _'_ _Good'_ , because that had of course meant that Greg would have to return.

And he most certainly would. There were still lessons to learn, after all.

Greg sighed again and ducked his head under the water before reaching for the soap. He decided not to bother with shampoo, simply lathering up his hands and running them over his head instead. He inhaled deeply as the minty scent of the soap wafted over him. _Mm._ He'd have to ask Nora where she got it. _Nora._ Greg found himself thinking back, to the earliest days, when they were dating.

At the time, his mates had thought he was mad. It wasn't just her overly dramatic appearance, the layers of pseudo-Victorian clothing and too-pale make-up, it was her manner. She was outspoken and foul-mouthed, and her appetites were decidedly not those of the stereotypical woman that he had dated before she came along. She could drain a pint faster than any bloke Greg had ever seen, and would happily devour an entire steak in one sitting. She had been the one to initiate their first sexual encounter, practically dragging him back into her flat after their first date.

Nora eschewed the obvious 'girly' stuff, refusing to wear perfume or fuss over make-up and clothes. When she did Goth herself up to go out clubbing, it was one of three specific outfits, and a very particular cosmetic regimen. On regular days, it was jeans and simple blouses, if not, then tatty old concert tees; no make-up at all and hair up in a clip. No muss, no fuss. Nope, all that girly shite could just go hang as far as she was concerned.

One time, Greg had suggested that they go see the current romantic comedy at the cinema, and Nora had fixed him with such a glare that he was surprised his face hadn't physically melted off.

"Are you fucking kidding me? You actually want to watch that shite?"

"No, not really, but I thought you might." At this point, they had been seeing each other with some regularity, and Greg had seen the numerous romance novels that she had stashed around her flat. "I thought you liked that stuff."

She had rolled her eyes at his apparent naïveté. "The books are pure fantasy, Greg. It's fun to get carried away and laugh at how utterly stupid they are. The films make it seem like it's real. Like it could happen to you. Like it _should_ happen to you - that a woman is nothing without a man at her side. I don't need that kind of attitude in my life."

He remembered reaching out for her hand and pulling her in close. "That doesn't mean you don't want a man in your life, yeah?"

She had moulded her body into his eagerly. "Only if he isn't a total arse. Lucky for me, you seem to be only _half_ an arse." And then she had kissed him with such an intensity that it almost seemed as if she wanted to devour him.

Greg let his hands wander over his body with the soap, recounting how it was at that moment that he realised that Nora was undoubtedly the one for him. She knew exactly what she wanted, was totally unafraid to go out and get it, and woe betide any creature that got in her way. Beautiful and bold as brass bollocks, he had loved her drive and attitude. An attitude, now that he was really thinking about it, that was strikingly masculine.

Again, he found himself wondering how he had managed to keep this such a secret from himself for so long. But how or why didn't really matter, did it? He knew now, and he was determined not to waste any more time. Greg thought himself rather lucky that he had found himself in Edward's bed rather than Scott's. Greg thought Scott might have been remarkably single-minded in his approach to tutoring him, showing him only what he preferred.

But Edward... Well, he was willing to share his wealth of expertise, and with a healthy dose of fun, besides. And Edward himself... _Damn_. Tall and broad and lean, that generous mouth and those heavenly, ridiculously large hands. When those hands had wrapped around him, his shoulders, arms, legs - his waist - Jesus fuck, Greg thought he'd pop off then and there. He'd never been with someone who was considerably larger than him before, finding it an odd and not entirely unpleasant sensation. When Edward had stepped in and had quite literally swept him off his feet, Greg had felt - what, exactly? Not overpowered; perhaps more like overwhelmed. Taken, definitely. And God, did he want to be taken again.

Greg huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. If this was the stuff of Nora's dreadful romance novels, perhaps he should just see about borrowing one or two. Then again, maybe he should just wait and see how his own romance panned out... He giggled to himself quietly. Thinking like a schoolgirl, that's no way for a grown man to behave, Greg. But all of his ideas of how grown men did behave had been wrong, hadn't they? Or at least misguided. So, no - think how you like, you damn fool.

So he did. Greg closed his eyes and thought once more of the feeling of Edward's body pressing down on him, imagining his hazel eyes, the lids heavy with lust and need. He ran his hands down his body under the murky, lukewarm water and felt Edward's hands instead, leaving a trail of wildfire in their wake. Greg lifted his knees, spread them wide and scraped his nails up and down the soft flesh of his inner thighs.

He used both hands to fondle himself, bollocks and perineum and cock, fingers tripping and rubbing and stroking all at once. He groaned quietly, biting his bottom lip to stifle any truly obnoxious noises. But then the hand fisting his cock stuttered over the flesh and he sighed in frustration. Soapy water definitely did not make for a good lubricant.

Greg opened his eyes and spotted the bottle of Nora's conditioner on the edge of the tub, feeling a grin pushing up his sore cheeks. He was quite sure that this wasn't what she had in mind when she put it in here, but needs must. Greg got up on his knees slowly, trying not to splash too much, reaching for the bottle. He squeezed out a generous measure and then simply set to work, his fist flying over his cock as he closed his eyes and thought once more of Edward.

He thought of that encounter in the alleyway, only this time he saw himself taking more control, twisting his fingers through Edward's shaggy brown hair, thrusting deep into his hot wet mouth, feeling his hands gripping on to his legs for support. Edward on his knees, not fighting it or trying to gain control, just taking it, taking Greg's thick cock into his mouth, against his tongue, Jesus, down his throat. Fuck, yes, just like that, looking up at him as Greg simply took what he needed, fucking that lovely mouth hard and fast and oh Jesus FUCK.

Greg stuffed the heel of his free hand into his mouth to stifle his shout as his orgasm ripped through him, leaving him trembling and lightheaded. He leant against the wall of the shower briefly and held up his hand for inspection, not all that surprised to note that there was hardly anything there. He was actually a bit surprised that he had been able to get it up at all, much less actually get off. Greg wondered idly if Edward had done the same and felt his cock twitch yet again.

"Down, boy." Greg shook his head at himself and reached to pull the plug on the drain before standing on shaky legs. He ran the shower briefly to rinse off any - er, residue and then stepped out to towel himself off. He left the damp towel hanging on the shower rod and gathered his shed clothing before padding across the hall and into the bedroom.

Greg looked at the Nora-shaped lump on the bed and sighed quietly. He dumped his clothes in the laundry basket and pulled a clean pair of pants out of the bureau, slipping them on. Greg stood by the bed for a while, just listening to Nora breathe and snore quietly as he pondered the ease of their discussion. It had gone surprisingly well and he could only hope that the rest of the process of disentangling their lives would be as smooth.

He lifted the duvet and blinked disbelievingly down at Nora's naked backside. Greg himself had always preferred to sleep in the nude. His own personal temperature issues aside, he viewed it as an intimacy, the feeling of skin to skin deepening the bond he felt with his bed-partners. Nora had scoffed at him as an overly-romantic fool once they had started sleeping together, but had fallen into the habit herself quite quickly.

Until she had started fucking other men, of course. That was really what had tipped Greg off to her little indiscretions, when the rather unflattering nighties had suddenly put in an appearance. So what the fuck was this? Some kind of peace offering? A hope to rekindle what was irrevocably lost? He sighed again, heavier this time. Greg slid into the bed and resolutely put his back to her unmoving figure.

No, perhaps this wasn't going to be so easy after all...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Working things out...

Greg glared at Nora from across the rickety card table that had been set up in the sitting room. Three weeks since his little revelation, three whole weeks before he found himself wondering who the hell this woman was and why he had ever married her in the first place. Whoever this creature was, she was not his Nora.

The doppelgänger sat and stared back, a nasty little smirk playing at the corner of her lips. "I am sorry, Greg."

"No, you aren't. I don't think you're sorry about anything. What the _fuck_ , Nora? I thought we were going to try to make this as amicable as possible. What the hell has happened to you?" She sighed, and Greg thought he saw just a hint of pain before her cold façade slipped back into place. "Is it because I rejected you? Is that what this is? Some kind of payback because I wouldn't give you one last shag?"

The anger flared in her eyes and he realised he'd hit the mark. "No, darling. Why on earth would I want to shag you? You're _gay_ now, for fuck's sake, and I have a boyfriend who is a far better lover than you ever were."

Greg couldn't help but smirk himself, refraining from saying that obviously he hadn't been operating at his full capacity with her, because _'hello, my sweet little nut, you're missing the bits I apparently need to really get off with'_. Edward certainly seemed to have no complaints, and Greg had finally been enjoying himself in bed for the first time in - oh - ever.

Nora must have read something in his face because she shook her head resignedly. "Stop daydreaming about cock for once, Greg. We've serious business to discuss here."

"Cock _is_ serious business, Nora."

Her eyes softened and she cracked half of a real smile before clearing her throat and getting back to the business at hand. "How much do you think you'd get for it?"

Greg winced. "Her, Nora. And it's _not_ happening. She's mine, she was mine before I even met you. I am not selling her."

"Look, you stubborn _arse_. We've already done the rummage sale, there's nothing of any value left in this place. We both need cash in order to get established elsewhere. Until the house sells, your bloody blasted piece of shite motorbike is the only thing left that is easily liquidated. I mean, you'd probably be able to get, what? Three thou?"

Greg rolled his eyes as his lips twisted. "Maybe. Hard to say, really. She is old." He fidgeted under Nora’s harsh gaze, twiddling his fingers as though a child under a parent’s scrutiny. Truth was, he had already been thinking that it was probably time that the old girl and he parted company. If he was going to be moving to a flat, there's no way he'd be able to maintain her properly; even if a motorbike was really the most efficient way to get around in the city. And the quicker he found some money, the faster this damn woman would be out of his life. Greg sighed deeply as he yielded to sense, as hateful as it was. "I'll put out some feelers, see if perhaps there are some interested parties. Okay? No guarantees."

Her eyes softened a bit as she seemed to realise what even that small concession had cost him. "Thank you, darling."

Greg twiddled a bit more, shrugging idly. "And how are things with Bobby?"

"Robert, Greg. Things with Robert are fine. We're getting along splendidly."

"Good. That's good. I'm happy for you."

Nora swallowed uneasily, her eyes shifting nervously. "And Edward? How is he?"

Greg stopped twiddling his fingers and allowed his most obnoxious shit-eating grin to spread slowly over his face, letting that stand in as his response. Nora blushed faintly and stood abruptly, tossing her handbag over her shoulder with finality. "Right. Well, then. The paperwork has all been submitted, the house has been listed. Guess the only thing we can do now is wait."

Greg stood as well and preceded her to the front door, holding it open for her as any gallant gentleman might. On her way past, she leant up to press a goodbye kiss to his cheek. Greg smiled down a her a little frostily, his chest constricting at the smell of her shampoo. "Nice seeing you again, Nora. I'll let you know what I find out."

"And I'll let you know when the papers come back from the solicitor." Greg nodded as she left, and he resolutely closed the door on her retreating back.

Greg sighed as he went back into the sitting room and surveyed the wreckage of his married life. There were boxes everywhere, and his favourite chair had been sold out right from underneath his bum. The only thing he had left was the stupidly tiny telly that he had rescued from Nora's rummage rampage in the garage... And now, there was a  very real possibility that he was going to have to sell off his lovely old girl. _Dammit._ As if he wasn't depressed enough before...

He went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle before heading back and tossing himself down on the sofa. Greg flipped the telly on to - something, didn't matter what, really. He downed half his bitter in one pull and then laid down to wait.

He didn't have to wait long. When the knock came, Greg just turned his head and shouted his invitation down the hallway. Edward poked his head round and held up pizza and a bag that clinked promisingly. Greg growled approvingly at the sight. _"C'mere."_ Edward obliged, laying his burden on the floor before simply lowering himself down onto Greg's body. He took his mouth and hummed as Greg moved against him, already hard and wanting.

Edward pulled away and licked the taste of bitter off his lips before looking over the edge of the sofa. There were two empty bottles, and a third in Greg's hand that was nearly gone. "I see you got started without me."

 _"Hm?"_ Greg turned from where he was assiduously sucking on Edward's neck, blinking down at the bottles hazily. "Guess I was waiting longer than I realised."

Edward took the bottle that was in Greg's hand and drained it himself before placing it next to the others. "I think you should eat something, darling."

"Oh, I was planning on it." Greg's eyes glinted and his hands went unerringly for Edward's zip.

Edward rolled his eyes even as his body shivered with delight. He sat up and placed his hands over Greg's, holding them firmly in place. "Not what I meant, you tart."

Greg stuck out his lower lip and wriggled underneath him saucily. "Oh, Edward, _please_. I've been thinking about this, about you, all day long. And I haven't even wanked once! Been saving it all up for you..."

Edward groaned, his self-control being neatly whisked away by a pouty mouth and puppy-dog eyes. " _Jesus_ , Greg. You're a goddamn menace, you know that?" Greg only grinned as Edward's hands made short work of his belt and zip. He lifted his hips as his jeans and pants were tugged down, and then threw his head back as Edward bent to his task. He writhed and rolled his hips as Edward's tongue worked its special brand of magic, bringing him to the brink quickly, backing off at just the right, er - wrong - moment.

"Oh, God. _Edward_. Edward, please." Greg fisted his hands into Edward's shaggy brown hair and attempted to hold him in place as he thrust gently. He could feel the curve of Edward's smirk against his overheated flesh as he neatly shook off Greg's grip. He took both of Greg's wrists in one large hand and held them off to the side as he continued to mouth at his cock with maddeningly slow motions. Greg struggled briefly, but his head was suddenly swimming with a combination of too much bitter and very little blood flow. "Jesus _Christ_ , E. Don't tease me, please. I need this. I need to come, please. I need to come in your wonderful mouth, _oh God_ , please..."

Edward hummed and hollowed his cheeks, sucking purposefully as he bobbed his head, smirking as Greg cried out and let his arms go utterly limp in his grip. Greg’s back arched as he suddenly came hard, releasing into Edward's hot mouth. There was no sound other than laboured breathing and a pleased hum from the man above him.

As Greg came back into his body, he realised that Edward had taken himself in hand at some point, and was very nearly at his finish. He watched his hand flying over his cock with greedy eyes, looking up at Edward's face when he saw the tell-tale tremors beginning to pulse in his belly. Edward gasped and came as their eyes met, hot semen splashing over Greg's exposed member. Edward braced himself with one hand on the sofa while he bent slightly, milking every last bit of come out, watching it drip down on Greg's skin.

Greg bit his lip and looked up at him with wide faux-innocent eyes. "Are you going to clean that up, you filthy beast?" Edward smirked and bent down once more, sticking out his tongue and licking up his mess with slow, deliberate strokes. Greg's body shuddered violently and he moaned low. "Goddamn, Edward. Just God- _fucking_ -damn."

Edward laughed as he tucked himself away. He held out a hand to Greg, who took it and used it to pull himself up into a sitting position. His vision went a little wobbly as Edward eyed him with concern. "I'll go get you some water." He snatched up the bag with the clinking bottles. "And these should be in the fridge." Greg made a little sad face at his retreating figure. "Don't you even. If you're good, maybe you'll get another. But only if you're very, very good."

Edward winked as Greg snorted. He slowly pulled himself to his feet to tug his pants and jeans back up, and then bent to get the pizza. His head swam again and he reached out to support himself against the arm of the sofa. _Shit._ He'd only had three, fer Chrissakes. But then, what had he for lunch? Hm. Nothing. Yeah, made sense now.

Greg flopped back down on the sofa with a wince and commenced to stuff pizza into his face. After a moment, he sat back and looked at it a little uncertainly. There was the usual quantities of meat and cheese - very little veg - just the way he liked it, but it seemed rather tasteless for some reason. Edward came back and pressed a glass of water into his free hand.

"This doesn't taste right."

Edward quirked an eyebrow and slid his own piece from the box, nibbling at it delicately. "Seems all right to me..." He studied Greg's face closely as he chewed carefully. "I take it that today's meeting didn't go too well."

Greg groaned and tossed his half-eaten slice of pizza back in the box. "She's gone all weird and cold on me, E. It's like she's somebody completely different now. She looks for ways to hurt me, and it's just stupid and I just don't even know any more..." He took a draught of his water and then held it up to the light. "Is there something in this water?"

Edward's brow crinkled. "No..."

Greg tried to pass it back to Edward, frowning impressively. "Then take it away and _put_ something in it."

"Bad idea. You're already depressed, more alcohol will not help."

"Feh. Some party boy you are. See if I come to you for a good time any more." Greg slid sideways and hung his head off the arm of the sofa melodramatically.

Edward chuckled as he finished off his pizza. "Oh, I think I can still show you a good time, darling. I just prefer clearer heads for certain activities."

Greg sat back up, his face suddenly showing avid interest. "And what activities would those be, hm?" He neatly shifted to straddle Edward's lap, nearly drenching him with his water. He tucked himself close into the larger man, nuzzling into his neck. "You haven't fucked me, Edward. Why haven't you _fucked_ me yet?"

Edward sighed and wrapped one large hand around the hand that was clinging to the water glass, guiding it to Greg's mouth as one might a child. "Drink your water, for fuck's sake. I told you, some things take time, that's all. I want you to be sure, and I want us to not be so frantic still."

Greg fixed him with a suspicious glare. "Bullshit. I am sure. I was sure the first night I was with you. As for us being frantic, look at us now. Already gotten off one time each, and we've had a really real conversation for all of ten minutes now, and _lookie!_ \- still wearing clothes and all... If you can't give me adequate reasons, then you may as well leave now. Just what the hell are you afraid of?"

Edward gaped at Greg as he resolutely drank down the rest of his water and then leant back to place the glass next to the line of dead soldiers on the floor. Edward took Greg by the waist, smiling as his body shivered under his touch. He sobered suddenly, his eyes dropping to the space between them. "You, Greg. All right? I'm afraid of you, afraid of what it might mean. I'm not - I'm not actually very experienced in this sort of - thing. Sex, sure. Obviously, I'm a sex _god_." Greg snorted and Edward risked a quick glance at his face. His dark eyes, although still bleary, were kind and soft. "But - relationships. That's new territory for me. There's something about you, Greg, something that makes me want to try."

He returned Greg's gentle smile and took a deep breath. "But I know me and I know I'm going to fuck it up and that means you'd get hurt and I really really don't want that to happen, but I don't want to give you up either because Christ look at you and the things that happen when we're together, I mean _Jesus_ , you and me, we're fucking scorching together. So yeah, I haven't fucked you even though I really really _oh God_ really do I really want to just bend you over and take you, make you mine, I know that it'll be your first and it's going to mean something to you and to me if I'm perfectly honest and that'll sort of seal the deal if you know what I mean, and then it's like we'll be _together_ -together and I just don't know if I can handle that."

Greg blinked rapidly as Edward took in a great draught of breath, sitting back slightly, bracing one hand on his _whatever’s_ chest. He opened his mouth and blinked some more. "Jesus Christ, Edward, it's just a _fuck_ , not an engagement."

It was Edward's turn to snort. He took Greg's chin in his hand and tilted his head so their eyes met. "Are you going to look me in the face and tell me that a fuck is just a fuck to you? That me being inside you, so _deep_ inside - that it won't mean something? I may not know you all that well yet, but it isn't difficult to see that you're an emotional man, Greg. A romantic, even."

"I - well, shit. Fine. Yes, it will definitely _mean_ something. But that doesn't mean that we'll be, like, obligated to each other or anything. Unless..." Greg dropped his gaze, fiddling with the fabric of Edward’s shirt. "Unless you want to try. The whole boyfriend thing, I mean."

Edward chuckled as he shrugged helplessly. "It's a Saturday night, Greg. I'm at a bloke's house eating pizza and watching telly, rather than hitting the clubs. This _is_ me trying." Greg looked back up, a spark of hope flickering in his eyes. "I just - need a little more time before we - well."

Greg grinned slowly and let his tongue wriggle out of his mouth. "Doesn't mean we can't do other things..."

Edward smiled and shook his head. "'Fraid I'm going to have to put my foot down, darling. You're still a bit wonky - you need to eat. More than just half a slice, anyway." Greg pouted again, but Edward just raised an eyebrow and narrowed his eyes slightly. "Don't you make me hold you down and force-feed you." Greg's eyes lit up and Edward chuckled again.

"Later, darling. We have time." He sighed as Greg made a noise in his chest, a happy little rumble. Edward wrapped his arms around him and pulled him in tight, a little crinkle of worry between his brows. "All the time in the world."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg contemplates his state of mind, and Edward tries to help...

After a brief cuddle, Greg slid off of Edward's lap and managed to eat one whole slice of the suspiciously bland pizza. He contemplated for a bit as he nibbled on the remaining crust, realising the problem probably wasn't the food itself, it was how he was responding to it. He didn't particularly want to eat; what he wanted was to _drink_.

He blinked as silent alarms went off in his head. It wasn't something that he'd ever discussed openly with his Da, but Greg was more than aware that most of the Lestrade males had a bit of an unrequited love affair with alcohol. There had been certain stories about Grandad that he had passed along; unfortunately, stories were all that Da had to share, since his father had died well before Greg was even born.

And then there had been the one night that his uncle had shown up at their door sometime after midnight, completely pissed to the nines. Greg had snuck out of bed at the ruckus of it all, a curious lad of perhaps six or seven. None of the shouting and crying had made a bit of sense to him, as the things the brothers were saying may as well have been in a language utterly foreign to him. The only thing Greg could remember clearly, even to this day, was the absolute ferocity of the physical fight that had suddenly erupted. His uncle had got in one good blow that managed to bloody his Da's nose, and then he had been completely overwhelmed by a swift flurry of strikes. Greg had been alarmed by the sheer viciousness on his Da's face as he bent over his younger brother and gave him one last hard smack.

"You're a goddamn _fool_ , and you're gonna wind up just like him." Then he had lifted his face, catching sight of Greg crouching in the hallway, watching in shocked stillness. The anger and the darkness in his Da's eyes had nearly frightened the piss out of him. He remembered scampering back to his room, tucking himself into a ball in between his bed and the wall and just waiting. Waiting for the dangerous creature that was inhabiting his Da's body to come and devour him whole. Thankfully, it hadn't happened, although he did wake up to find that a blanket had been tucked around him at some point in the night.

Something about witnessing that had seemingly put some kind of subconscious 'off' switch in his head. If he were out with mates, Greg would be the one looking out for their welfare; he'd have one or two, maybe get a little tipsy, and then he'd just - stop. Not from any conscious thought or decision, he'd just be done for the night. It wasn't anything that he had analysed, or even really thought about before. But now, looking around at the chaos of his life and the state of his mind, it suddenly struck Greg that he might be entering very dangerous territory indeed.

Greg cut a sideways look over at Edward, who had secured a bottle of lager for himself and was clearly unwilling to share. He must have felt eyes on him, because he turned his head slightly, looking back at him with caution, but also with a bit of gentle concern. Greg found himself wondering if his family may have had a history too. Either way, his kinda-sorta-maybe-but-not- _really_ boyfriend was obviously looking out for him. Greg abruptly decided that he was going to do what he could to reward him for that and perhaps emphasise that they could be good for one another in ways that didn't purely involve getting their rocks off together.

He lifted himself from the sofa and silently collected the empty bottles, disappearing into the kitchen with his armload. When he came back out, he had a can of pop in his hand rather than another bottle of lager. Edward smiled slightly to see it, and smiled a little more broadly when Greg started picking at another slice of pizza. When Greg had forced down about a quarter, or at least as much as he could possibly stomach, he tossed the box down on the floor and stretched out along the sofa, propping his feet up on one of Edward's solid thighs.

Edward immediately reached out to him, running his fingers along the top of Greg's foot and then into the cuff of his jeans. Greg shivered as Edward's hand wrapped around his ankle and squeezed at him briefly. _"Jesus."_

Edward winked. "Hm?"

"You touch me, and it's like electricity. Just the stupidest, tiniest touches. Why?"

Edward shrugged, continuing to move his fingers along and over and around Greg's feet. "I dunno, darling. But I know what you mean." He glanced up and caught Greg's eye with a little twinkle of his own. "My fingers are tingling, too."

They stared at each other in silence, until Greg simply couldn't stand it any longer. He quickly moved to straddle Edward's lap, taking the bottle from his hand and placing it safely on the floor. Without a word, he shed his t-shirt and then plucked Edward's out of his jeans and pulled it over his head as well. Edward's smirk quickly dissolved into a breathy moan as Greg pressed in close, needing to feel that delicious slide of skin on skin as he bent to take Edward's mouth.

"Oh _God_." Greg huffed out a quiet laugh as he rubbed his cheek on Edward's, nibbling on his earlobe and neck. He quickly set to rubbing as much of himself over the larger man as he could, writhing and wiggling with abandon.

"Jesus, Greg." Edward's hands were hot on the small of his back, sliding down and cupping his arse, pulling him in tighter as they both groaned in unison.

"Edward _._ I want you on me, I want to feel all of you. I want you to take both of us in one of your stupidly big hands so we can just rub and rut and come all _over_ each other."

"No argument here, darling." Then there were no more words as Edward neatly slid onto his knees, lowering Greg to the floor with ease. Greg moaned as a wave of desire flooded his body and made his brain short out temporarily. God, what was it about this damned man that made him quiver like a stupid teenager? Edward pulled back slightly, fumbling at his zip as Greg did the same with his. Edward’s fingers suddenly stilled, and Greg looked up to see him staring down at him with something very like wonder in his face.

Greg blushed under his intense scrutiny. "E, what..."

"Shh. Just - sh." He reached down to tug Greg's jeans and pants all the way off before neatly shimmying out of his own. He lowered himself down onto Greg’s body, and what had been frantic and urgent was now slow and deliberate. He bestowed the lightest of touches all along Greg's skin, something barely on the verge of teasing, just firm enough to stoke the fires burning in both of their bellies. Greg strained towards the man on top of him, making his need known without saying a word. Edward held him down easily, propping himself up on his elbow to let his gaze travel up and down Greg's body in the dim light of the flickering television. "My God. You are _beautiful_."

“Edward...”

"No. Whatever you've got in your head, let it go." He reached up to caress Greg's face, leaning down to press a heated kiss to his lips. "Let it _go_ , darling." Greg moaned and let his hands wander down to Edward's arse, clutching them together tight. He rolled his hips, smiling as Edward gasped into his mouth. The smile grew as Edward started to move against him, thrusting against his cock and belly.

"Yes. Oh God - _yes_." Edward grunted, and Greg clearly heard a hint of frustration in it. "Jeans. Pocket." Edward lifted his face a little and quirked an eyebrow. He reached out without ceasing his motions against Greg and started fumbling in the pockets, eventually digging out a small bottle. Greg grinned up at him as he laughed and popped it open. "Your hand, Edward. I want your hand on me. On us."

 _"Mm."_ Edward complied, both of the men sighing as the tension shifted from something dry and vaguely irritating to slick and hot and tight.  

"Edward, oh fuck." Edward grinned and tightened his grip, watching with delight as Greg's head went back and his eyes fluttered closed. "So good. _Jesus_."

Edward could not ignore the line of Greg's exposed throat and he bent down to sink his teeth into it. Greg's whole body shuddered deliciously and he clasped Edward's head close. "Greg..."

"Fuck, yes. Harder, E. _Faster_. Jesus. Motherfucking _Christ_ , nearly there."

Edward panted against Greg's skin, obeying every order that passed through Greg's lips. He clutched tighter, thrusting and moving his hand faster and faster still. " _Jesus_ , Greg. Jesus..."

"Yes, _yes_... There, E, oh _fuck_ , yes YES." Greg's frantic motions suddenly stilled as his body convulsed under Edward, his eyes rolling back as he came, hot semen spurting over his belly and Edward's hand. The extra heat and slick and the look of bliss on his face pushed Edward over the edge and he added to the stripes painting Greg's stomach with a wordless shout.

They collapsed together, heads spinning and breathing heavily. Greg suddenly broke out into helpless giggles, and Edward couldn't help but follow. "You're right, Edward. I don't know what the fuck we are, but we certainly do have chemistry."

"I don't think sex will ever be one of our issues, Greg." They giggled some more, flat on their backs on the floor of Greg's sitting room. Edward rolled onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow, trailing his fingers through the puddle on Greg’s belly. "Come out with me, darling. Sitting here in the middle of all this mess isn't helping, you know."

Greg blew out a breath and shook his head curtly. "No, not tonight. Next week, maybe. I'm still..."

"Processing?"

"That's as good a word as any, I suppose. I'm not in the right frame of mind to be out drinking and all that." He turned his head and bit his lip in thought. "In fact, you should probably take whatever you brought back with you."

Edward smiled in relief. "Good. Yes. Except the pizza. That you can keep, and I expect you to eat it all, you know." He paused. "You may not have noticed, but you've lost some weight, darling."

"That's a bad thing?"

"When it's nearly a stone in about a fortnight? Yeah, that's bad."

"Hm."

"Yeah, hm. Eat, dammit."

Greg rolled his eyes. "Yes, boss."

"Please?"

Greg blinked at the look of concern on Edward's face. "I'll try."

"That's all I can ask for, really." Edward sat up slowly, just sitting there for a moment before raising himself to his feet. Greg sat up and held out a hand, and Edward pulled him up with no difficulty. Greg felt a little swoop in his stomach that had nothing to do with the wretched pizza or the bitter that he had consumed earlier.

"You gonna go now?" Greg didn't bother to hide the disappointment from his voice.

Edward avoided his eyes, gathering his clothes from the floor. "After I clean up, yeah. Said I'd meet up with some mates, check out a new club." He offered Greg a weak smile. "If it's nice, maybe we'll check it out together next week?"

Greg smiled in return, still feeling that disappointment settling into his stomach. "Yeah, okay." He followed Edward into the bathroom, both of them wiping themselves down and casting little glances at each other in the mirror over the sink. Back in the sitting room, Greg pulled on his pants and jeans, noticing for the first time that the waistband was actually pretty loose. In fact - he buttoned and zipped before grasping the material and tugging down sharply. _Hm -_ could practically pull them off, even all done up.

Edward cleared his throat from the hallway. "You see what I mean?"

Greg frowned as he turned to look at him. "I honestly hadn't noticed."

Edward glanced down at the floor and then back up. "Maybe - maybe you should talk to somebody?" Greg's frown deepened as he considered, leaving the query to hang in the air between the two of them uncertainly. Edward sighed and stepped closer. "Thanks for tonight, and we'll talk, yeah?" Greg nodded and went up on his tip-toes for a brief but thorough kiss.

"Definitely." He flopped back down on the sofa as Edward turned, listening as he rummaged in the fridge for his lager before heading down the hallway. The door creaked open, and then there was the unexpected sound of the bag hitting the floor, the bottles clinking but not breaking.

" _GREG!_ Come quick!"

Greg bolted off the sofa and ran down the hallway, coming up short at the sight of a limp figure slumped over the mantelpiece. Edward was just staring down in shock, clearly unable to think or to act. Greg quickly hoisted the figure under the arms and dragged him into the hallway, laying him flat on his back. He brushed the greasy fringe out of the man's face and sucked in a quick breath.

"Sherlock?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg deals with an unexpected guest...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit shortish, but there's more coming. :)

_"Sherlock?"_

There was a minute twitch of his hand, and Greg noticed with relief that his chest was rising and falling at a fairly steady pace, so it seemed that he was mostly unconscious and hopefully not overdosing. Hopefully. He certainly didn't like his colour, though, and his skin was clammy, his entire body drenched in sweat. Greg looked up at Edward and quickly realised that he would be of absolutely no use whatsoever.

He nodded toward the open door. "Go on, then. I can take care of this."

Edward blinked rapidly and seemed to come to his senses with a sharp jerk. "What? Wait, don't you want to, um, call someone or something?"

Greg stood and gestured curtly. "No. I can handle this. Just go on, we'll talk later."

Edward seemed to shrink into himself slightly before gathering his things from the floor. He turned an abashed gaze to Greg. "I'm sorry - this - this sort of thing... I just _can't..._ "

"I know." Greg granted him a swift kiss on the cheek as he pushed him out the door. "It's okay. I'll manage." He resolutely closed the door on Edward’s slack face and locked it before turning back to Sherlock's limp form. "Right."

Greg pulled him into a sitting position and then hoisted him over his shoulders in a sort of modified fireman's-carry. Once in the bathroom, he lowered him carefully onto the edge of the tub and stripped him down methodically, pulling a face at the various smells coming off of his ragged clothing.

"Jesus, Sherlock. You goddamn _idiot_." He cocked his head as a quiet mumble reached his ears, and Greg simply had to grin in disbelief. Even semi-conscious, the lanky git was trying to backtalk him. Greg decided to take it as a good sign, if a rather irritating one. Once Sherlock was stripped down to his pants, Greg lowered him into the tub and then disappeared into the kitchen, swiftly putting together a saltwater emetic and returning to his impromptu patient.

Tipping Sherlock's head back, he forced his mouth open and poured the foul concoction down his throat, sitting him up and leaning him forward as it did its magic. There was seemingly nothing in his stomach but pills, a great many of them still fairly intact. Greg briefly entertained the idea of gathering up a few and having them analysed, but no. He was already taking a risk by not calling it in, and Met resources shouldn't be used for this sort of thing - keeping a friend out of trouble.

 _'You're being stupid, Greg. This kid's not your friend, he's not going to appreciate it. Call it in.'_ Greg shook his head and waited until it seemed that all of the contents of Sherlock's stomach had been expelled. His long limbs twitched as he tried to curl in on himself protectively. Good. Motion was good.

Greg stood and stripped down to his pants himself before turning on the shower. He sat Sherlock back up and then pulled him to his feet before propping him up under the spray. He kept it nice and chilly at first, as his intent was to wake him up a bit. Greg climbed in behind him, just holding his body steady against his. Sherlock sputtered as the water hit his face. Also good. Not so far gone, then. Greg heaved a little sigh of relief.

"Who - wha?"

"Sherlock, you damn fool. It's Greg. You were on my doorstep, good thing I didn't mistake you for a bundle of rags and toss you in the rubbish."

"I don't - who - wait... _Lestrade_?"

"Yeah, Lestrade."

 _"Mm."_ Sherlock swayed on his feet, leaning against Greg gratefully.

"You okay to wash yourself?"

"Mm-hmm." Sherlock nodded tremulously and Greg reluctantly released him, watching as he swayed a little more forcefully and then shook his head. "Nope."

"Yeah, I guessed." Sherlock was starting to shiver now, so Greg reached around and turned on some hot water before grabbing the flannel and soap. He made quick work of it, well, the parts that weren't covered by pants, anyway. He passed Sherlock the soapy flannel before reaching for shampoo. "Those bits you get to clean yourself, Sunshine.”

There was only a quiet snort as a reply, and Sherlock peeled himself out of his wet pants, exposing himself without a second thought. Greg politely averted his eyes and concentrated on washing his dark hair, scrubbing out the accumulated grease and god-only-knew-what. Once he was rinsed clean, Greg sat him down on the edge of the tub again before turning off the shower. He hopped out of the tub and rubbed himself down, draping the towel over Sherlock's shoulders before bolting into the bedroom to grab an old pair of jogging bottoms and a ratty t-shirt.

He knew that the shakes were going to start up soon, and wanted to get Sherlock as warm as possible. He peeled off his own wet pants and pulled on a pair of loose pyjama bottoms before heading back into the bathroom. As he expected, Sherlock had curled himself into a ball on the floor and was shivering madly. He dried him off as best he could before coaxing him into the too-large clothing, pulling him to his feet.

Greg could tell that Sherlock was nearly asleep again already, his body fighting to pull him back into healing unconsciousness. Half-carrying and half-dragging the nearly dead weight, he managed to toss him down into the bed that he had once shared with Nora. Sheets, a blanket, a duvet, oh, and that old bedspread - it all went on top of the shivering bundle, but the shakes weren't stopping. Greg looked down at himself and knew there was nothing for it.

He briefly went out to the sitting room, turning off the telly and grabbing up the pizza. That went into the fridge and Greg also filled a glass with water that he took back into the bedroom. He turned off all the lights before climbing into the bed with Sherlock, curling himself around his shivering form, counting out the time in his head until it seemed that they abated. In less than five minutes, the skinny body tucked into his had relaxed completely, and Sherlock's erratic breathing had become something deeper and steadier.

 _'Well done, old lad. Now, you really should get out of this bed...'_ Greg closed his eyes briefly, and then he was gone as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg feeds Sherlock, and they chat...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do comment... 
> 
> If you have questions, or wish to see something resolved, I'd very much like to know.
> 
> Thank you!

Greg awoke before Sherlock did and he spent a few moments just watching the lad sleep. He was still pale, of course, but at least his skin wasn't coated in a fine layer of sweat and grime. Greg was struck by the starkness of his cheekbones and the sharp line of his chin in particular. It seemed that he wasn't the only one who had been losing weight, and while he didn't think it was all that big a deal for himself, Sherlock clearly had little enough to lose without turning into naught but a walking skeleton.

 _'Right. Time for brekkie, then.'_ He slid out of the bed as quietly as he could and went to the kitchen in search of sustenance. Not much in, of course, but he could make do with some porridge. And there was always tea, of course - the eternal healing balm.

He was just swallowing down the last of his own bland breakfast when Sherlock shambled in, his curly hair sticking up every which way. He scowled down at Greg and started to flop onto the sofa, but stopped abruptly as his gaze focused on the cushion. His pale eyes narrowed and the scowl deepened.

"You fornicated here last night." Greg grinned cheekily as Sherlock's eyes swept over the room. "And on the floor."

Greg winked at him saucily. "Yeah, it was an off night. There should have been at least one more session - maybe we would have put that stupid table out of commission permanently."

Sherlock folded his arms over his chest as he stared down at him imperiously. "You are little more than an animal, Lestrade. Allowing your base impulses to rule your life."

"And you're allowing your weakness to destroy yours." Sherlock opened his mouth in shock, but only an indignant squeak emerged. "Sit down, I'll get you something to eat. And yes, you will eat. I'm surprised that those jogging bottoms aren't around your ankles already." Sherlock remained standing, still eyeing the sofa with suspicion. "Want me to get you a towel or something, Princess? You're fully clothed, i promise you that nothing on that sofa is going to poison you. Sit down."

Sherlock huffed and turned away as Greg returned to the kitchen, coming back with tea and a large bowl of porridge. He set it down on the rickety card table and dragged it over to the sofa as Sherlock came back into the room, thoroughly swaddled in the tatty old bedspread. Greg disappeared for another moment after lifting an amused eyebrow, coming back with sugar and cream and honey.

"There you are, then. Make it as sweet as you like, and eat it all down." Sherlock pulled a face, but didn't hesitate to pour nearly half of the honey directly into the bowl of porridge, mixing it into a sticky sludge. "Yikes. Hope you've a good dentist."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked Greg over carefully. "You've lost nearly a stone."

"I had that pointed out to me last night, ta very much."

"Depressed. Not because of the divorce, that was clearly overdue. Perhaps just the additional stresses, living alone for the first time in a decade, and in relative squalor. Do you even have any idea how to care for yourself, Detective Constable?"

"I'll manage. Not that I'd be apt to take any advice from you, seeing as how you were utterly blitzed last night on God only knows what. At least I was able to get those pills out of your belly with relative ease."

Sherlock swallowed uneasily, putting one hand over his neck. "Ah. The sore throat makes more sense now..." He continued to pick at his breakfast fitfully as his eyes darted up to meet Greg's and then down again.

"How did you even get here?"

Sherlock blinked and his gaze turned inward slightly. "Cab. I think. Can't quite remember."

"And where were you before you came here? What happened to you?"

The younger man glared at him heatedly. "I'm not sure I appreciate this line of questioning, Lestrade."

"Appreciate it or not as you like. You're in my home, wearing my clothes and eating my food. I'm taking one hell of a risk not calling you in. You will answer my questions, Sherlock." Greg sighed deeply. "On the night we met, I gave you my card and my address because I was and am willing to help you where I can. But that doesn't mean I'm going to just let you waltz into my life and just take what you like without giving something in return."

Sherlock abruptly pulled himself into a tight ball underneath the duvet, tucking the bowl of porridge under his chin. Greg felt an uneasy swirl of something unidentifiable in his gut at the look on the younger man's face, something vulnerable and frightened. "Answers, Sherlock. That's what I want. Nothing else." His voice faltered as he hesitated slightly. "Has - has anyone..."

"No. Cease that line of thought immediately. You and I - that is something that we will never talk about. Ever." Sherlock blinked rapidly and shoved a spoonful of sticky porridge into his mouth before talking around it thickly. "You made your feelings about me abundantly clear at the club, and I don't allow myself to indulge in so-called pleasures of the flesh anyhow. It only distracts my mind from finer pursuits. I don't need your pity."

Greg smiled sadly. "It isn't pity, Sherlock. I'm just worried about you."

There was a quiet huff as Sherlock squirmed in his fluffy cocoon. "You sound like my bloody brother." He paused significantly. "Why? Why do you even care?"

Greg cocked his head and studied him carefully before shrugging. "Honestly - I'm not really sure. I just - I don't want to see you get hurt, that's all."

"Hm." Greg smiled again as Sherlock scooped out the last of his breakfast and practically licked the spoon clean. All bundled up as he was, with the empty bowl held between both hands, he looked a bit like Oliver Twist, begging for more.

Greg grinned at him, feeling a soft warmth filling his chest. "Would you like me to make another batch?"

Sherlock twitched and practically threw the bowl down on the table in a fit of pique. "No, I'm fine." But then he paused and looked at Greg almost guiltily. "Um. Maybe later."

Greg shrugged off Sherlock’s unease with a smile. "So. Where were you last night, and what happened?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed deeply as he scrunched down lower in the duvet. "I was just - around."

Greg snorted and shook his head. "Cut the shit, Sherlock. I'm a copper, you aren't the first junkie that I've talked to."

"I'm not a junkie!"

"Pfft. Whatever you consider yourself, you look and act like a bloody junkie. Just tell it to me straight, yeah?"

The younger man did his best to deliver a murderous glare which had no effect whatsoever on the seasoned policeman. "Fine. Whatever you say, officer sir. Yes, okay? I was looking to score, and came across an old supplier. We hadn't done any business in a while, but he had never done me wrong, so. He told me that there was a party nearby, stuff being handed out like candy. Said he'd take me, and I agreed to go. He was right - abandoned house, people everywhere. I just took whatever they handed me."

Greg growled incoherently, tugging on his own hair in frustration. "You dumb sonuvabitch. Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?"

Sherlock drew himself in even tighter under the bedspread. "I'm perfectly aware, Lestrade. I was not operating at my full intellectual capacity, obviously. Although I did notice that there were a number of younger individuals rapidly falling into unconsciousness around me. I'm a little more resistant, so I was able to extract myself and flee - somewhat."

Greg stood abruptly, his fingers twitching into action. "Where was this house, Sherlock? If anything's happened to those kids..."

"Relax, Lestrade. I called it in before making my escape. My stupid brother has supplied me with a mobile. I use it as little as possible, as he uses it to track my whereabouts. But I wasn't about to leave anyone to suffer God only knows what fate. In fact, when I get back out there, I'm going to track down my former supplier and have words."

"Have words?" Greg sighed and sank back down onto the sofa, his muscles still tense with the helpless urge to do something - anything.

"He should have known better than to have tried to entrap me."

"Or a bunch of stupid street kids."

Sherlock's gaze skittered away from Greg's face uncomfortably. "Right. Anyway, I'm sure he's just a pawn. There's something much bigger going on."

"If you weren't so stoned, maybe you'd be able to spot the pattern." Greg sighed heavily, his body suddenly sagging. "C'mon, Sherlock. You're much too smart to be abusing yourself this way. Stay with me for a few days. I know people, I can help."

"I've taken about as much of your help as I can stand, Lestrade. I'm not in the habit of - interacting - quite so much. It's really rather distressing."

 Greg stared at him disbelievingly. "You'd rather wreck yourself out on the street than kip on someone's sofa? Just so you don't have to interact? Are people really that much of a bother to you?"

"Yes." Sherlock's tone was curt, but his eyes once again skittered over Greg's face and away bashfully.

"You may try to convince yourself of that, but your body knows better. Just last night, you were practically shivering yourself to pieces. I got into that bed with you and held you, and you calmed right down. Probably the best night of sleep that you've had in ages. Don't you even try to deny it."

Sherlock flushed bright red. "No doubt it was just your abnormal body heat. I can almost feel you radiating from here."

Greg shrugged. "You can tell yourself whatever you like. It was my touch that calmed you. People need to be touched, Sherlock. Especially nasty prickly people like you."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and fidgeted. "Where are my clothes?"

"I tossed 'em."

"You WHAT?"

Greg shrugged again. "They wouldn't have survived if I had tried to wash them. Nothing holding them together but dirt and stink. So I emptied the pockets, and tossed the rest in the bins. I've got some older clothes that'll probably fit you. Mostly. If they're really unacceptable, then you can just call your brother, right?"

"He is absolutely the last person that I will ever go to. Fine. Get me something to wear, and then release me from this prison."

"Sure you don't want to stick around for lunch?"

"Your so-called breakfast is sitting in my gut like a cannonball, Lestrade. I'm not sure I could survive luncheon."

Greg stood and held up his hands in surrender. "Fine. Just - wait a minute." He went into the bedroom and started rooting around in the back of the closet, finally coming across the box of old t-shirts and jeans that he had been loath to get rid of. Rather stupid, that longing for youth, but at least they might still prove somewhat useful. He dumped the box out on the bed and spread the items out, eyeing the pile doubtfully. Some were rather torn and tattered, but they were still infinitely more useful than the bundle of rags that he had binned this morning. He also snagged a couple of pairs of clean boxers and socks from the bureau and tossed those on top of the pile in an overt offer.

Greg went back out to the sitting room and gestured grandly at his unexpected guest. "On the bed - take your pick." Sherlock stood imperiously and shuffled out, still wrapped in the duvet, looking a bit like an ambulatory but regal popcorn puff. Greg heard the bedroom door close with a click, and then he spent some time in the kitchen, cleaning up the mess from breakfast. He risked a peek into the fridge and shuddered slightly.

No. No more feeling sorry for himself. He was going to clean this shit up, get serious about his life and his career. He had already put out a few feelers about the position opening in Homicide, and was fairly confident in his chances - if he knocked off the drinking, of course. Greg heard the rustle of motion out in the sitting room and poked his head in.

"Your stuff's in the bathroom."

"Yes, I found it. Um." Sherlock stood there awkwardly, plucking at the long sleeves of the black t-shirt that he had put on underneath one of Greg's old football jerseys.

"Ye gods. Now you really do look like an awkward teenager." Sherlock scowled at him, but with the addition of his new duds, his irascible expression was simply too adorable to be taken seriously. Greg popped back into the bedroom and scooped up a sweatshirt hoodie with a little grin. "Take this as well. Gets cold out there. Oh! Wait a second..." He snatched his mobile from where it had landed on the floor the night before and quickly snapped a photo.

"What's that for?"

"Make it easier to identify you when you end up at the morgue. So, be on your way, then."

Sherlock blinked rapidly and then huffed out a nearly silent laugh. "Point made, Detective Lestrade. But I'm not so far gone."

Greg reached out to clasp his upper arm, wincing as his fingers nearly wrapped all the way around. "I hope not. I really, really hope not." He followed Sherlock to the door, waiting until it was open before spinning him around and pulling him into an abrupt embrace. There was a sharp hiss of breath being drawn in, but it was released with a quiet sigh, and the skinny body pressed against his relaxed suddenly.

Greg blinked back tears as Sherlock pressed his forehead into his neck, feeling a tentative touch around his waist. He squeezed harder, encouraging the younger man to wrap his arms around him in earnest. "Be well, Sherlock. Please." He swallowed against an unexpected lump in his throat. "I may not be - here - the next time. Selling the house, you know..."

Sherlock squeezed again and then released him, reluctantly stepping away from Greg's embrace. "If I need you, I'll come and find you. I... I promise." Greg nodded shakily, folding his arms around himself and leaning up against the doorway as he watched him walking away. He frowned as a large black car pulled up in front of the retreating figure and Greg saw Sherlock clench his fists as the back door opened and a tall man quickly stepped out, looking rather forbidding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg meets Holmes the Elder...

The man was vibrantly ginger, wearing an expensive three-piece suit and had an umbrella tucked into the crook of his left arm. Greg spared a quick glance toward the sky, his frown deepening as he noted nary a cloud to be seen. How odd. Even though Greg couldn't hear anything clearly, testy words were obviously being exchanged, the anger all too evident in the straight set of Sherlock's back and in the imperious tilt of the stranger's head. As Sherlock stalked off, a final insult being hurled over his shoulder, the stranger's gaze turned toward Greg, one regal brow cocked inquisitively.

Greg grinned at him impulsively, quickly realising what the little scene that he must have witnessed seemed like. He hadn't even thought about putting on a shirt this morning, so here he was standing half-naked in his doorway, having just exchanged embraces with a much younger man - not that it was any of the stranger's business. Come to that, what was his business with Sherlock? Unless... Oh, yes - must be the brother. Greg briefly entertained the idea of going out to introduce himself, but quickly decided against it, retreating and closing the door behind him instead.

Unfortunately, it was finally time to give the old girl a tune-up and then one last spin before selling her off to the highest bidder. Greg sighed unhappily before putting on his muckiest clothes and stomping out to the detached garage around back. It took all of ten minutes before he was up to his elbows in grease, mumbling curses as he fought with a particularly stubborn bolt on the engine. It finally gave just as he heard a quiet noise from behind him, someone clearing his throat with a genteel air.

It was the stranger, naturally. Greg looked up at him from where he was crouching on the concrete floor next to his bike. From the way he was surveying the wreck of the garage, his cool grey eyes darting about and taking in every tiny detail, it was abundantly clear that he was related to Sherlock. Greg sighed heavily as he looked to the side, searching perfunctorily for a clean rag to wipe his hands off with. Finding nothing nearby, he looked down at the already horribly messy state of his t-shirt and mentally threw his hands up in a 'what the hell' gesture. after all, the man had already gotten an eyeful earlier, so what could it possibly hurt? Greg pulled his shirt over his head as he stood, thoroughly wiping his hands on it in an attempt to get them as clean as possible.

He held out his hand, politely inclining his head in the man's direction. "Greg Lestrade. I'm assuming that you're Sherlock's big brother?"

The stranger blinked slowly, his gaze travelling down the length of Greg's naked torso before resting on the hand being held out to him. He reached out to grasp it, his grey eyes snapping back up to Greg's face without a trace of embarrassment. "Mycroft Holmes."

Greg smirked good-naturedly. "God, what _were_ your parents thinking?" His teasing grin grew as he started to process certain signals apparent in the man's behaviour, the clamminess in the hand clasped in his, the faint flush in the cheeks, the dilation of the pupils. Hm, oh yes. He cheekily took a half step in closer before releasing his grip. The signals were there, yeah, but Greg didn't quite know what to do with them. He knew how to flutter his eyelashes and play coy, as that seemed to send Edward round the bend every damn time, but this chappie was clearly different. Greg could somehow sense that a more authoritative approach would be far more intriguing to this bloke.

But no. Bad idea, Greg. This was Sherlock's brother, and if he was going to be serious about getting the kid clean, then this was the beginning of a somewhat professional relationship. Best not muck it up by mixing business and pleasure, no matter how much fun it might be to peel this haughty creature out of his bespoke armour bit by bit. He let his tongue wriggle out over his bottom lip quickly, grinning as Mr. Mycroft Holmes' breathing increased minutely.

"So what can I do for you, Mr. Holmes?" Greg stepped back and took a slug of the pop that he had brought out with him. He gave the posh figure an eyeful of his bare back as he bent to retrieve something that had fallen off the garage worktop. Turning back with an easy smile, he was ridiculously pleased to see the other man's mouth hanging open stupidly. "Mr. Holmes?"

Grey eyes suddenly snapped to his face, and Greg could almost visibly see the wall going up in Mycroft's head as he forcibly put his mind back to the matter at hand. He straightened his shoulders and pulled himself up to his full height, lifting his chin and looking down his admittedly impressive nose at Greg. "What are your intentions toward my brother, Mr. Lestrade?"

Greg chuckled and leant back against the worktop, gesturing expansively. "My intentions are to try and keep the skinny git alive. There's a lot of potential in that strange little head of his. It would be a real shame to lose it."

The elder Holmes seemed to be taken aback and more than slightly sceptical as his eyes narrowed, his gaze piercing into Greg's chest. "And that's all?"

"What kind of a man do you take me for? Think I'd take advantage of some strung-out street kid?" Greg glared, taking no small amount of pleasure in the sudden flush blooming on Mycroft's cheeks. "There's no funny business going on here, Mr. Holmes."

"No, of course not. I do apologise." Greg's eyes were drawn down to Mycroft's feet as he heard a quiet noise, the tip of that strange accessory tapping against the toe of a highly-polished shoe. "Although, if it were to come to that, 'the kid' is nearly thirty. It would hardly be 'taking advantage', as you so quaintly express it."

"That's how it would feel. Besides..." Greg let his own gaze travel up and down erratically. "I prefer my quarry to have a bit more - substance. Give me a man with a bit of meat on his bones, something to really sink my teeth into..." Oh, but he had delivered a hit, and quite a devastating one at that. Mycroft was suddenly leaning forward slightly, apparently using his brolly as a means of support. Greg drank down the rest of his pop, eyeing the noticeable bulge that Mycroft was attempting to conceal with his awkward posture. "Your baby brother's too delicate to whet _my_ appetite, Mr. Holmes. Little more than a will o' the wisp..."

"I...see..." Mycroft took in a heavy breath in a clear attempt to re-establish his formidable wall between reason and desire.

Greg smirked at his discomfiture and then wiped it away as he levelled his tone. "And just what are _your_ intentions toward Sherlock, if I may ask?"

Once again, Mr. Holmes' cool grey eyes narrowed minutely. "Much the same as yours, I expect. Keep him alive, try to turn his mind back toward nobler pursuits."

"Then we're on the same side, yeah?"

Mycroft inclined his head. "Yes, it would seem so."

Greg reached for his wallet, pulling out one of the cards that he typically handed out to his street contacts. Reaching for a grubby pen residing on the worktop, he scribbled something on the back before taking the two steps back towards the elder Holmes and handing it over.

"Here you are, then. That's my mobile on the back."

"New Scotland Yard. Interesting."

"Did'ja think I was just some half-arsed mechanic?"

"I honestly did not know. I was only made aware of your existence when I saw Sherlock exiting your home. Rest assured, I will know much more about you in an hour's time."

Greg blinked and then laughed. Mycroft rolled his eyes and reached into an interior pocket, neatly producing a card of his own. Greg took it, expecting to see that he was CEO of some bloody great company. Instead, it was just his name and number, the characters on the card embossed simply and neatly. He raised an eyebrow and shot the elder Holmes a questioning look.

Mycroft sighed. "I occupy a minor role in the British government. That is the number to my work mobile, on which I am very nearly always available." He plucked the card from Greg's fingers and flipped it over before handing it back. "This is my emergency number. Please do not use it unless absolutely necessary and do not distribute it elsewhere."

"Got it." Greg slipped the card into his wallet, taking another long look at the man standing in front of him. He could almost feel the authority and power emanating off of him, but he found that he was quite unfazed by it all. Greg knew, without a doubt, that this Mycroft Holmes was likely to be one of the most dangerous men he'd ever meet, but he found that he wasn't afraid, not even the least little bit. He wasn't even wary. "Care to come in for a little sit-down, maybe some tea?"

There was a minute lifting of an elegant brow, and Greg licked his lips in anticipation. "While I do appreciate your kind offer, and I am certain that it would prove rather - enlightening, I fear that I must decline. I have matters that I must attend to."

"Of course you do." Greg held out his hand in farewell, waiting until Mycroft's much chillier hand folded into his before squeezing gently. "On our next meeting, then?"

Mycroft smiled faintly. "Perhaps."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft considers his new acquaintance...

With that, Mycroft turned to go, cursing silently with his teeth worrying at his bottom lip as he slid into the backseat of his car. Gregory Lestrade. What an infuriatingly intriguing specimen of manhood. Damn you, Sherlock, for finding him before me! He sighed quietly as he settled back, nodding at his driver's inquisitive glance in the rearview mirror. Don't be uncharitable, Mycroft. He's the key to getting Sherlock clean, you know it. Sherlock came to this person willingly - he obviously feels safe with this man. Do _not_ allow this opportunity to pass you by.

He took out his mobile as the car pulled away from the kerb, giving instructions to his PA to pull up any and all information on one Gregory Lestrade. He pondered momentarily before giving the order to set up surveillance as well. They may as well cover all the bases...

Less than an hour later, Mycroft was sequestered in his office, going over the dossier that Anthea had prepared for him. Lestrade seemed like nothing remarkable, at least not at first glance. There had been a small bit of ugliness as a child, highly suspicious illnesses all through his youth. There were no outright accusations from the multiple doctors that had been involved, but Mycroft had no difficulty reading between the lines, especially with an older sister that had died well before he was even born. Mycroft's brow furrowed as a pang of sympathy went through him.

Lestrade's mother and father were both deceased, as well as any extended family, except for a few cousins several times removed still living in the French countryside. He was currently in the process of obtaining a divorce from a wife that had carried on extensive affairs. Mycroft shook his head disbelievingly. Well, she was quite the little idiot, wasn't she? Although - Gregory must have known, but he hadn't taken steps until quite recently. Why? Oh, oh yes. Mycroft reflected on the not entirely unwelcome heat that had flared up between the two of them during their brief conversation. Gregory had clearly been flirting, although he had seemed rather uncertain about his actions. So - he was obviously attracted to men, but apparently relatively new on acting on it. Hm. Very intriguing, indeed.

From there Mycroft went on to read about Lestrade's career. He’d had a solid run as a Police Constable, no unresolved issues with the public or with his superiors. Mycroft could see that as a Detective Constable, Lestrade had a certain way about him, as the cases assigned to him were often closed quickly and cleanly. But he tended to keep his head down, not seeking glory or even acknowledgement of his work. Although - hm. Yes, it seemed that he had been making enquiries lately, about a position that was opening up in another division.

Homicide. How interesting. Well, it was glaringly obvious that a transfer would not only be beneficial to Lestrade, but to the Met as well. Yes, a promotion was clearly in order. Mycroft made a note to speak with the Detective Superintendent. Really, it was shameful that Gregory had been neglected for so long. A man like that - he needed to be in charge, didn't he? So - perhaps five years as a Detective Sergeant, and from there, to Detective Inspector. Oh, yes. This may require a face-to-face meeting with the Detective Superintendent. He buzzed through to Anthea and told her to schedule something right away.

Mycroft took a moment to peruse the photos attached to the dossier again. Lestrade made quite the striking figure in his police uniform, his serious expression doing nothing to quell the little twinkle in his deep chocolate-brown eyes. There were a few grainy stills that had been pulled from CCTV, just shots from various crime scenes, burglaries and the like from years past. Mycroft flipped through them, taking particular note of how Lestrade's hair had steadily lightened over the years. Only thirty-seven, the same age as himself, but already going quite a distinguished shade of silver. Mycroft felt it was rather a shame that he hadn't really been able to take significant note of it during their conversation, as the light in that shabby little garage had been rather dim.

Not to mention that the man had brazenly stripped half-naked seemingly without a thought, nearly distracting Mycroft from his intentions completely. He flushed as he remembered his rather visceral reaction to Lestrade's little innuendos. There was no way he had been able to conceal the rather embarrassing tenting in his trousers, as well-fitted as they were. Just the memory of it was enough to make his stomach churn, imagining the dark tone underlying Gregory's voice as he spoke, the no-doubt-subconscious touch of his fingers along his own stomach, drawing attention to the dark line of hair running from navel to below the waistband of his jeans. Mycroft gazed into the middle distance, allowing his remembrances from the afternoon to bloom into something more, a lascivious daydream.

He was seriously contemplating retiring into his personal en suite to wrestle his erection into submission when his phone vibrated on the desk. He snatched at it and nearly growled his curt greeting. "Report."

"We have movement, sir."

"Follow at a distance. Keep eyes on at all time."

"Sir." There was a quiet click in his ear as his operative swiftly moved to obey.         

Mycroft opened his laptop and quickly pulled up the newest images. So far they had only set up exterior cameras, at least until the good Detective Constable did something to warrant more extensive surveillance. He watched as Lestrade wheeled his ancient motorbike out of the garage and to the edge of his drive. Mycroft took a moment to appreciate the sheen of his silver hair, gleaming in the weak sunlight, finding himself wondering just how it would feel to run his fingers through it. Then Lestrade ducked back inside the house briefly, coming out dressed in - no. This was just not _fair_.

The heathen creature was wearing a full set of leathers, well-worn black with minimal red striping. Mycroft shuddered slightly as Lestrade swung a leg over and straddled the bike, the angle of the camera giving him quite the view of his leather-clad and quite delicious-looking arse. Mycroft clenched his fists impotently as Lestrade pulled on his gloves and helmet before giving the bike a strong and efficient kick to get it started. Good _God_ , he may as well have kicked him in the chest. He watched some more as Lestrade manoeuvred the bike out onto the street, raising himself up slightly as he bounced off the kerb. That _arse_ , Jesus!

Once Mycroft noted that his tail, a nondescript black cab, was in pursuit, he retired to the en suite to relieve himself of his persistent erection. He didn't dawdle, taking care of himself quickly and efficiently. There would be time later to revisit his daydream, to press his face into his mattress in the dark of his bedroom, to imagine that the good detective was towering over him, holding him down hard as he took what he needed. Oh, yes... Plenty of time for that later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit more of Mycroft watching Greg and some - other - things...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't Mycroft's story, I swear! Or, er - maybe it is. I just don't know any more... *sigh* 
> 
> So my mind wandered, and this is where it wound up. After this and the next chapter, I'll be getting back to Lestrade dealing with Sherlock and hopefully Mycroft will only show up occasionally. Hopefully. He seems to be a persistent little bugger...
> 
> Feedback, please!
> 
> (Love you all!)

Once Mycroft had composed himself, making sure that nothing untoward had - ahem - splattered on his trousers or shoes, he went back into his office. He kept one eye on the footage being displayed on his laptop, the image being fed from a camera on the cab's dash, and the other on his actual duties. He found himself tensing every time Lestrade did something seemingly foolish on that motorbike of his, and he shook himself slightly. After all, it wasn't _his_ body on the line.

After a somewhat meandering drive around his neighbourhood, Lestrade pulled up next to a nondescript pub. His tail circled the block before parking across the street, and Mycroft pondered momentarily before sending off a quick text.

_'Follow.'_

Mycroft watched as his man Collins casually strolled across the street and into the pub. Good man, attractive in a fairly neutral sort of way, quick on his feet. The kind of man most people trusted on first sight, he was usually able to insinuate himself into multiple situations with ease. It wasn't long before his personal camera came online, a simple device disguised as a mobile phone. Collins fussed with it briefly, aiming the camera and the listening device toward a dimly-lit corner of the pub. He himself could only barely make out what was being said, but Mycroft had no issues hearing everything quite clearly.

Ah, excellent. These personal surveillance devices were still relatively new, and they hadn't had much opportunity to test them out in the field. This was turning out to be quite the fortuitous situation.

"All right, Freddie. Guess it's your lucky day and all."

"Wot's that, Greggy?"

Mycroft bristled, taking an instant dislike to this 'Freddie' person. He was small and distinctly rat-like, and was clearly intimidated by Gregory's easy-going demeanour. How dare he be so disrespectful?

Gregory chucked the smaller man on the shoulder none too lightly. "Oi, fucker." The Freddie person snickered, and Mycroft relaxed slightly as he realised that this was apparently a form of their regular greeting. He shook his head. He would never be able to comprehend the uncivilised mind.

Mycroft's attention was briefly diverted as Collins ordered a half-pint and settled himself on a stool at the bar, one eye on the telly on the wall and the other on the men in the corner.

"Time to sell the old girl off, Fred. So, as I say, it's your lucky day."

Freddie shifted in his seat, clearly interested but attempting not to look too eager. "Yeah, I heard wot was going down. Real sorry to hear it, mate."

"Ah, been a long time coming, really. Can't say that I'm chuffed about it, but I'm not all that upset either, y'know?"

"Still." Fred reached across the table to clasp Gregory's upper arm and gave it a squeeze. "Me and your mates, we're here for ya an' all."

Gregory looked down and then back up with a grin. "Thanks. I'll remember that." They clinked their glasses together and then Gregory was apparently distracted by Collins, as the man made some vague gesture at the television. "Oof. Bad call." He looked back to his companion.

"So what d'ya say? Four?"

Fred nearly choked on his lager. "I'd have given you four about five _years_ ago, Greggy."

"Oh, c'mon. You've been after me to sell her to you for ages, and you know that I've always done right by her."

"Three."

"Jesus, Fred." Gregory looked down again, running his finger over the deep scars in the tabletop. "I need the money, mate. Three and a half?"

Fred blew out a breath and conceded with a little nod. "All right, yeah." He held out his hand, and Gregory shook on it solidly.

"Thanks, mate. D'you mind if I - well - hold onto her for just a little bit? I was thinking of taking a jaunt out into the country Saturday next, give her a good run, y'know?"

"Yeah, that'll be fine. You staying on here?"

Gregory shook his head curtly as he settled back in the booth. "Can't afford it. And with only myself to look after, I was thinking of spending a bit more time at the office. Get in good, get that transfer I'm after. So I'll be looking for a flat a bit closer to town."

Fred snorted derisively. "Yeah, that'll come cheap."

"Pfft. So it'll be little more than a shoebox, but that's all right. I don't have much." Once more, his eyes dropped to the tabletop. "Not much at all." Lestrade cast another sidelong glance at Collins as he gestured angrily at the television once more. "You ever seen that bloke in here before, Freddie?"

Mycroft sucked in a breath. Dammit, why was the man drawing so much attention to himself?

"Nah, don't think so. But I'm not as observant as you are, Greggy. Especially when it comes to the blokes and all..."

Gregory shook his head, but shot Fred a fond look along with a wicked grin. "Fucker." Fred snickered into his glass and then tossed his head, a clear signal of _'go on, then'_.

Mycroft tensed as he saw Gregory slide out of the booth and head right for Collins. Then the camera was giving him quite the lovely view of Gregory's leather-clad midriff as he stepped forward to confront the stranger in his pub.

"Don't think I've seen you in here before." Mycroft shivered, noting the subtle difference in Gregory's voice, something a bit deeper, a little more commanding than the tone he had been using with his friend.

Collins chuckled easily. "I'm not a regular, no." He threw a thumb over his shoulder toward the nondescript cab parked across the street. "I drive that cab there - just dropped some bloke off near here and thought I'd try to catch the rest of the match." He turned his body toward Gregory and Mycroft could hear the smile in his voice even though he couldn't actually see it. "Problem?"

There was an awful scraping noise as Collins adjusted the listening device, repositioning it by dragging it across the bar. The view was still a little close, but Mycroft could easily see Gregory relaxing slightly, favouring Collins with a cheeky grin. Collins leant forward slightly, idly running his fingers through the condensation on his pint glass. Mycroft frowned. Was he... He was _flirting_!

"No, no problem. Sorry, mate. Just - well, I'm a copper, sometimes I'm a bit too suspicious for my own good." Mycroft gasped as Gregory moved just a bit closer to Collins and one hand dropped out of view. Just where was that hand going? This - this must stop immediately. He quickly composed a text.

"Oh, a copper, hm?" Collins' voice dropped sinfully low. "Gonna frisk me?" Gregory's grin sharpened and he threw a glance toward the gents'. Just then, Collins' 'phone' beeped and buzzed against the bar-top. Mycroft heaved out a relieved sigh as Gregory's smile faltered and Collins reached out to flip the device open. "Damn."

_'I don't need you that deep undercover, Collins. Stand down.'_

"Double-damn. It's the missus. The Queen is demanding an audience." Collins flipped the device shut and popped it into the pocket on his shirt, still providing Mycroft with a view of sorts. He slid off his stool and reached out to tug on the zip on Gregory's leather jacket.

"Some other time, yeah?"

Gregory's eyes narrowed minutely, but he nodded vaguely before backing off slightly and holding out his hand. "Greg."

Collins took his proffered hand and squeezed gently. "Jack. I'll be seeing ya."

"I certainly hope so." Gregory turned back toward his companion, and Mycroft could hear the beginnings of a rather obnoxious reedy laugh. "Oi! Shut it!"

And then there was nothing more as Collins retreated from the pub back to the cab, making a show of putting his 'phone' to his ear as he reported in.

"Just what in the bloody blue blazes was that all about, Collins?"

"Apologies, sir. I saw an in, so I went for it. I've been praised for my initiative before."

Mycroft sighed deeply. "Of course you have. Perhaps I should apologise for not making the scope of the operation clear to you from the beginning."

"Not necessary, sir."

There was a quiet thump. "Collins?"

"Excuse me, sir. He's looking my way, so I was just making it seem as though I'm having a row with my fictional ball and chain. In case you may need me to connect with the target again."

"Ah. That's very - proactive of you, Collins, but I sincerely doubt it will be necessary."

"Oh, I'd be _more_ than happy to serve, sir."

Mycroft could easily hear the hint of lust in Collins' voice, and his own turned quite frosty. "I applaud your sense of duty, but as I say - not necessary."

"I see, sir. Is that all, then, sir?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes at the coy tone in Collins' voice. Damn the man for actually being clever as well as quick-thinking. He now knew exactly why Mycroft was so interested in this particular target. "Yes, that is all. Fall back. We'll re-assign you upon your return."

Collins cursed internally, knowing that he'd be lucky if he didn't wind up in Siberia somewhere. "Thank you, sir." He clicked off, shaking his head with mirth. He couldn't help but throw another glance toward the pub, catching a swift glint of silver hair at the far window. Feeling rather cheeky, he waved before pulling away, laughing as Greg winked and grinned at him in return.

Hm. Maybe he'd have to come back round after his shift was over. That is, if His Royal Highness didn't put another tail on his 'target'. Or on him, for that matter. Collins repressed a slight shiver and decided that even though he found Greg to be terribly intriguing, he most likely wasn't worth his job. Or - whatever Mycroft Holmes would have planned for him if he determined that he'd been playing with his new toy.

Everyone in the office knew of Holmes' inclinations, although it was hardly ever spoken of. There were vague allusions to his private club, a few oblique glances behind his back, but that was it. He would apparently choose from his staff from time to time, presenting them with a red-edged card and instructions to see his driver at such-and-such a time. Those that would go, would come back slightly dazed, but with tightly-closed mouths. They would rarely be invited back, and most of the men seemed perfectly content with that.

Only one had thought to try to exploit his supposed relationship with his employer, and apparently, Holmes had verbally eviscerated him in front of the entire office because of it. Collins hadn't witnessed it, being relatively new, but there were still rumours circulating that afterwards, the man had never been heard from again. He doubted that any foul play had actually been perpetrated, but he knew better than to think that Holmes wasn't capable of it. Still, the message was clear. Whatever Holmes did, whoever he did it with, it was to stay within the confines of that club, and woe betide any man who was arrogant enough to think that he had any pull with the man on the top because of it.

Collins pulled into the underground tunnel and parked the cab among the rest of its brethren, drab and inconspicuous vehicles of every make and model. He signed in at the kiosk and then went to report to his operator, a grizzled old matron with iron-grey hair and a puckered scar across her left cheek. Collins passed her with a cheery, "Evening, Madge," and went to the wall of small cubbyholes. Operatives like him didn't have desks as such; all messages went through this little hub. He unlocked his mailbox and stuck his hand in, expecting to fish out an envelope, but his fingers closed around a small card instead. He gulped and slowly pivoted on his heel, holding up the red-edged card.

Madge smiled, slow and dark and evil, her ice-blue eyes bright. "I'd wish you luck, laddie, but I'm not sure it's luck you need."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse into Mycroft's private life...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit longer than I usually post - I think. I'm not great about keeping track of word counts and the like. Anyhow, here is where we discover how Mycroft would keep himself entertained before coming to 221B. 
> 
> Minor trigger warning - Myc does get called some mildly nasty names, I know some people don't like that sort of thing, but he's okay with it, so...

Collins turned the little card over, reading the instructions jotted down in a legible if almost painfully precise hand.

_'East Garage, 7pm.'_

He glanced at his watch. It was just going on six now, so he could head down to the barracks, get a quick shower in and maybe something a little less - pedestrian to wear, but... No. Whatever this was, Holmes would just have to take him as he was. He would let his work stand on its own merit, and not bother trying to impress the unimpressible.

He sauntered over to Madge's desk. "Got an hour to go, lovey. Anything for me?" She shook her head, her thin lips quirking up in amusement. "All right then - I'll be in the lounge if duty should call." Madge made a noise, a surprisingly cute little chirp of laughter, before waving him on.

They called it 'the lounge', but it was little more than a dusty break room, a couple of small benches against one wall, old vending machines against the opposite. There was a tiny telly affixed up high in one corner of the room, currently showing the news on BBC1. Collins nodded to the sole occupant as he walked in, another drone such as himself, sitting at a tiny table and fiddling with a bottle of water. He eyed the vending machines doubtfully, feeling the distinct roiling sensation of nerves deep in his belly. No, food was a bad idea, especially something as salty and eventually unfulfilling as a packet of crisps. He stretched out on one of the benches instead, making sure to set his watch to go off at 6:45, just in case he fell asleep.

He found that his nerves settled somewhat if he thought of the upcoming meeting as an operation. Like so many times before, he was being put into a situation with little to no information with unknown expectations hanging over his head. It was just another day in the life, right? Yes, this would be just another operation, and he would be absolutely fine. He'd managed to bluff his way out of any number of hinky situations before. What made this any different, really?

Collins sighed as he stared up at the ceiling. He closed his eyes briefly and found himself thinking of his latest target. He hadn't been told much, just that he was a potential asset and that Holmes wanted eyes on him. Collins had been ordered to stake out the man's house and tail him if necessary. It had been a little harrowing, but rather a pleasure to follow that particular - well - _tail_. The man was truly skilled on that rickety machine of his, but he obviously had far too much fun taking stupid risks. Not necessarily an admirable trait for such an asset to display.

Collins felt his mouth twist into a little smirk as he found himself thinking of the target's other - assets. He certainly filled out that dusty road gear of his to an admirable extent, and seemed aware of his natural charm, even if he didn't entirely understand others' susceptibility to it. The speed with which he had turned off 'suspicious cop' and swiftly segued into 'potential shag in pub toilet' had surprised Collins, even if he was the one who had been blatantly pushing it in that direction. The text from his 'wife', though... When Holmes had chosen that moment to interrupt, it seemed like the appropriate tack to take. Now Collins found himself thinking that rather than leaving things open-ended, it may have actually shut down any potential future meetings.

The way Greg's warm brown eyes had suddenly narrowed, the slight step backward. Oh, he had still been interested - Collins knew himself to be attractive in a pleasant, if somewhat forgettable sort of way; quite definitely fit due to the true nature of his work. So yes, Greg had still been interested, but apparently not so eager to help a closeted man cheat on his wife. Strong moral centre, then - that fit in quite nicely with his career choice as a copper.

Collins relaxed a bit more on his bench, letting his analyses get pushed to the side as he concentrated on the purely physical. Those eyes, so dark and wicked, the easy grin and frankly gorgeous tinge of silver in his hair. Collins chided himself mentally. He had always had a thing for older men. That was probably why his persona had instantly gone down a sexual path rather than _'just a strange cabbie, mate, wot's yer problem, eh?'_ Fucking libido. It always got in the way, especially when one wasn't getting any on the regular. He supposed that was why he'd given Greg his name before leaving - his real name. Rule number one - use no part of your actual name while undercover. Oops.

His watch chirped, and Collins startled slightly. To his embarrassment, he found that he was half-hard after imagining Greg in nothing but those leather trousers. He sat up slowly and was relieved to find that the other operative had disappeared sometime during his personal ruminations. Another brief moment of seeing a sharp grin in his mind's eye, and then he forcibly turned his thoughts toward the impending meeting with Holmes, breathing out a sigh of relief as his erection flagged. Whatever this secretive meeting was about, that was certainly _not_ how he wanted to present himself to his employer.

Collins took a moment in the loo to refresh himself a bit, slapping a little cool water on his face and running his damp fingers through his short black hair to make it stand up a bit. He stepped into the East Garage to find George, Holmes' personal driver, waiting. He held up the card silently and George nodded in recognition.

"You're early."

Collins glanced at his watch in surprise. It was 6:58. "Erm..."

George smirked. "Mr. Holmes follows quite a strict timetable." They stood staring at each other awkwardly for a full minute before George opened the door for him. "If you would..." Collins shook his head and slid into the back.

The ride was quiet, as George left the partition up. Collins wasn't surprised, as he was known to be the stolid, silent type anyhow. That was most likely why he was one of Holmes' most trusted personal assistants; natural gossips didn't get too far in organisations such as theirs. So Collins just sat back and twiddled his thumbs, enjoying the smooth and luxurious ride. He was actually a little surprised when the door opened, as he had hardly even been aware of the car coming to a stop. George quirked a quick smile at him as he clambered out and nodded toward a black door set into the side of a rather old and imposing building.

"Just show the card at every door you're led to. I'm sure I don't need to tell you that you're not to share details of what happens in there with anyone at all. There would be - consequences."

Collins sighed. "Look, mate. I'm an operative. I know cloak-and-dagger well enough."

George graced him with another fleeting smile. "You should do just fine, then. I'll be waiting to take you home when you're done."

Collins nodded and steeled his nerves, heading to the innocuous door and giving it three solid knocks. He showed the card to the blank-faced gentleman in butler garb and was led to yet another black door and another impassive face. Three more black doors, three more strangers, being led up stairs and down, but always toward the centre of - something. His latest escort stopped him at yet another blasted door, this one painted in a deep blood-red colour.

"Knock twice, and then enter. Someone will be here to guide you out when you are done." The man's voice was quiet and somewhat creaky, as if with disuse. Collins quirked an eyebrow and nodded his understanding as the man retreated. He stood in front of the red door for a long moment, straightening his jacket and running his fingers through his hair once more. Then he did as he was told, knocking twice before grasping the knob and opening the door slowly.

He kept his eyes on his feet as he stepped through, waiting until he had closed the door to look up and take in his surroundings. It looked like - well, a hotel suite, and a rather nice one, at that. He was standing in a small dining area, which was attached to a small but apparently fully-appointed kitchen. There was a set of short bookshelves acting as a partition between the kitchen and the sitting area, complete with luxurious sofa and large television. Collins noted light streaming out from a doorway set in the wall to his left, and he shed his jacket and draped it over a nearby chair before crossing the room.

He had expected to find a bedroom. What he had not expected to find was Mycroft Holmes, stark naked and kneeling in the centre of the large four-poster bed. His employer met his eyes calmly for a moment and then dropped his gaze, his head bowing meekly. Collins sucked in a quick breath, his cock swiftly filling out as he looked him over. So _that_ was the game, eh? Well, he would be more than happy to play along. He let his gaze rove over the room before wandering around to investigate, doing his damnedest to ignore the vision on the bed.

He passed through another doorway leading to a rather luxurious en suite. Collins stared at the huge tub, seriously contemplating making Holmes wait while he had a nice long soak. He explored further, opening one cupboard door to find clean linens and towels, opening another to find - well. There were various toys lined up on the shelves and, oh dear - whips and the like hanging on the back wall. Collins lifted a lightweight flogger from its hook and ran the soft leather strips through his fingers gently. Not really his thing, but he could make it work if necessary. Not tonight, though. Tonight would just be an introductory session. He knew that if he used Holmes to their mutual satisfaction tonight, he'd be invited back. And then - well. Then - _anything_ would go.

He replaced the flogger and went to the sink to wash his hands. There was a piece of paper sitting on the countertop and Collins looked it over as he dried his hands on a ridiculously fluffy towel. With a start, he realised that they were lab results - Holmes' proof of cleanliness.

Collins snorted. Just how long had he been at this? He noticed a small note at the bottom written in the same precise, tidy hand that had been on the card that had summoned him here.

_'No anal penetration without express consent.'_

Collins blinked at his reflection in the mirror. Well, no, of course not. Who would even do that? He felt a quick pang, a swift jumble of emotions that he had difficulty sorting out. Outrage that there were men out there that would take such liberties, angry at Holmes himself for playing such dangerous games. There was also a measure of sympathy and sorrow for the man mixed in there, for although the game seemed stupid, Collins knew Holmes to be anything but. The man had certainly turned his great mind toward solving his own problems, and this was the solution he had settled on?

Shaking his head slightly, Collins wandered back out to continue his investigation. Glancing swiftly at the bed to make sure that Holmes hadn't moved, he opened the wardrobe and took in the fluffy robes hanging there, as well as opening all of the drawers to investigate their contents. Condoms, lube, flannels, as well as some smaller items such as cock-rings and bullet vibes. Batteries, too. Bloody well anything that a man could possibly require for an extended session of sin and debauchery.

Including a warm and willing body to do nearly anything he wished with...

Collins took a couple of items from the drawers and put them in his pocket before closing the wardrobe securely and stepping into the centre of the room. He stood there for a moment, keeping his hands clasped behind his back, watching as Holmes lifted his head oh-so-slightly, glancing at him from underneath pale red lashes. He was pleased to note that Holmes' cock twitched as the two men regarded each other.

"Holmes."

"Sir?" His employer's voice was coy and silky-smooth, and Collins' own cock made its appreciation known.

"Come here. I'd like to have a proper look at you."

"Of course, sir." He stood easily and in three strides was standing before him, his shoulders straight even as he kept his head bowed and his gaze on the floor.

 _"Hm."_ Collins reached out a hand as if to touch, but stopped bare centimetres from Holmes' body. He let his hand hover over his skin, smiling as he broke out into gooseflesh, and Holmes gasped quietly as his prick twitched again. Collins circled him slowly, eyeing the long line of his back and flank, taking in the creaminess of his skin and the myriad freckles dotting the expanse of his shoulders. This time, he did touch, running a finger down Holmes' spine and giving one firm arse-cheek a hard pinch. Collins' cock jumped again as Holmes gave voice to a low moan.

"Kneel." Holmes dropped to his knees without protest, and Collins completed his little circle, reaching out to cup his chin. He lifted Holmes' face and ran his thumb over his lips slowly. Collins lifted his free hand to his own groin and pressed down firmly. "I know what you want, Holmes." The man prostrated before him licked his lips eagerly, flickering his tongue out to try and capture the thumb that was steadily stroking him. Collins drew down his zip and stuffed his hand inside, giving himself a good, hard squeeze. He groaned.

Holmes shuffled just a tiny bit closer, his grey eyes darting from Collins' face to the considerable bulge that was still tucked away. "Please, sir."

"I should have known you were nothing but a filthy cock-sucking whore, Holmes. A dirty little slut in bespoke pinstripe suits."

"Yes, sir." Holmes granted him another lingering glance, another desperate flicker of tongue. "Oh, _please_ , sir."

"Not yet. You haven't _earned_ it, Holmes." Collins released his grip, both on himself and on his new supplicant, before stepping back slightly. He lifted one booted foot and nudged the erection jutting out proudly from a neat patch of vibrantly red pubic hair. Holmes gasped and spread his thighs further, giving Collins room to slide his foot down and between, knocking against his bollocks gently. "I'd rather like to see you make a mess of yourself, slut. And if you entertain me sufficiently, then I just _might_ let you suck me off."

"Oh, _thank you_ , sir."

"Best not thank me quite yet." Collins tossed a bottle of lube on the floor behind him and went to take a seat at the foot of the bed. Holmes made a bit of a show reaching for the bottle, sticking his arse in the air as he stretched out to grab for it. Collins snorted quietly, but he couldn't resist giving himself another quick squeeze. It was quite the sight, after all, and Holmes was proving to be rather the accomplished hussy.

Holmes moaned low as he turned and caught sight of Collins' hand stuffed into his trousers again. "Please, sir." He uncapped the lube and drizzled a bit over his cock. "May I see it? Please."

Collins grinned. "Need a little inspiration, slut?"

Holmes nodded silently, biting his lower lip as he worked one hand over his shaft and the other down below. "Yes, sir."

"Such a desperate, greedy little whore..."

He let out another breathy moan as his hands moved a bit faster. "Yes, sir. Please oh _please_."

"Come closer." Holmes swiftly crawled toward him on his hands and knees, clutching at the bottle of lube. He instantly snugged right up to the foot of the bed, in between Collins' spread thighs. Collins laughed before fisting the hair at the back of his head and pulling him away. "Oh, no. You don't get it that easy." He reached in with his free hand and slid his aching cock out of the flap of his pants. "You get to look, that's all."

 _"Oh."_ Holmes' hot breath drifted over his exposed flesh, and Collins repressed a shudder. "Oh, it's so lovely, sir." He continued to fist himself with a quiet groan, his eyes fixed on Collins' finger, tracing up and down his own cock so very slowly.

"And you're just dying for a taste, aren't you?"

"Oh. Oh, God _yes_."

"You'd live off cock if you could, wouldn't you, Holmes?"

" _Ngh_. I - oh, sir..."

"Stop." Holmes made a sort of strangled noise, but his hands stopped moving almost immediately. "Release yourself." Holmes took in a deep if somewhat shaky breath, and fell back into his resting position, his back straight, his hands on his thighs. Collins looked down at him and smirked. His forelock had fallen into his nicely flushed face, and his lips were swollen from repeated lickings and bite marks. The head of his cock was flushed deep red, and his bollocks were drawn up tight. Collins was impressed with both himself and Holmes. He had apparently judged the moment just right, and Holmes had seemingly sterling self-control.

"Well, aren't you just the obedient little tart?"

"Thank you, sir." Holmes' gaze was calm, if just a bit frantic around the edges. He eyed Collins' cock again, with distinct hunger. "It truly is lovely, sir."

Collins looked down, as if surprised to find himself so exposed. He wriggled a bit, getting his trousers and pants down low enough to draw out the whole package. He pinched the base between thumb and forefinger, tilting his head to the side as if studying it, ignoring Holmes' desperate groan. "Oh, it's all right, I suppose. I haven't had any complaints..."

"No, sir. I can't imagine anyone would dare." He licked his pink lips and leant forward slightly. "Please, sir."

"Hm, nope. I told you I wanted you to make a mess. Do you see a mess? 'Cause I sure don't."

"No, sir." Holmes' fingers twitched. "May I, sir?"

"Lie down. Right where you are." Holmes complied eagerly, making Collins lick his lips in anticipation. "Scoot your bum just a bit closer to me, that's right. Knees up, thighs spread. Oh, such a beautiful slut you are."

There was a quiet gasp from the floor. "Thank you, sir."

"Now, that little note in the toilet. Am I correct in assuming that your own fingers are acceptable?" Holmes' cheeks burned, but he nodded curtly. "Good. When you've got two in there, you can start touching yourself again. I want to see you spurt while you're fucking yourself like the filthy whore you are."

Holmes' body arched and he moaned loudly. "Oh, sir." Collins nodded down at him, giving the base of his cock a firm squeeze, as it was threatening to pop off at nothing more than the glorious sight of the man on the floor wiggling around on one finger.

Collins tilted his head, and then deliberately placed one booted foot on the back of one long, creamy thigh, pressing down gently. Holmes groaned in exquisite agony as the action was repeated with the other leg, until Collins was holding him open and utterly still, leaving him terribly exposed. The man on the bed scooted forward slightly, pushing his feet up just a bit more, forcing Holmes' hips upward.

"Hold your bollocks out of the way, Holmes. They're blocking my view."

Holmes' voice was quite breathless as he nodded somewhat frantically. "Yes, sir." He tugged at his scrotum, pulling it up as he continued to work one finger into his hole.

"I think you can take another one, don't you?" Holmes moaned and began working in the second finger, not quite coming up to the second knuckle. "Oh, dear. You're terribly tight for such a deplorable hussy. Nobody's seen to you properly for quite some time, have they?"

"N-no, sir."

"Poor little slut. Nobody worthy enough to fill that sadly-neglected hole, huh? We'll just have to see about that, won't we?" Collins pressed his feet down a little harder, smiling slowly as Holmes' fingers started stroking inside himself deeper and faster. "Won't we, whore?"

"Oh _God_. Yes. Ah ye-yes, sir..."

"That's it. Oh, yes, that's lovely." Collins scooted down a bit more, removing his booted feet from Holmes' thighs. The man on the floor threw his head back and started rolling his hips to meet the motion of his fingers. "Touch yourself now, come all over that pretty white belly for me."

"Ah, oh God." Holmes' fist fairly flew over his cock, his hips rocking in sharp desperate motions between both hands. "Oh, thank you, sir, thank you - ah, ah - _oh God_!" Collins abruptly stood as Holmes' back arched stiffly and his cock spurted copiously over his hand and belly, still watching him intently. As Holmes was slowly blinking himself back into his body, Collins swiftly shoved trousers and pants down to his ankles and then settled back on the edge of the bed. Holmes released himself and cast a glance over his head toward the toilet, his fingers splayed wide to keep them from sticking together. "Sir, may I?"

"No." Collins invitingly spread his thighs wide. "I wanted you filthy, and filthy you're gonna stay until I'm done with you." Holmes shivered. "Back on your knees, and get nice and close. Obviously, you're not to touch me with those dirty hands, so you might as well hold them behind your back." Holmes eagerly positioned himself as Collins ripped open a condom and rolled it on.

Holmes pulled an unpleasant face at the sight of the latex covering his handily-won prize. "Sir?"

Collins glared at him, hooking one finger under his chin and pulling his face upward. "Don't you even think about it. So you're clean, but you don't know a damn thing about me, Holmes. Next time - and there will be a next time, won't there?"

Holmes blinked and his lips quirked upward slightly. "Oh, _yes sir_ , I do believe so."

"So next time I'll have a report of my own, and we can negotiate properly. I'm surprised that an experienced whore such as yourself is taking these sort of risks, Holmes. Rather irresponsible of you to invite relatively strange men to do whatsoever they wish with you. Men can be such evil, debasing creatures, after all." Collins reached out to draw Holmes' head in closer, running his fingers through sweat-dampened hair, smoothing it back from his high forehead. "Such a naïve little slut. You need someone to take care of you, don't you?"

Holmes frowned slightly, almost cross-eyed from staring at Collins' cock, oh-so-close now, but still sadly out of reach. "Sir?"

"How many? How many men have walked through that door only to prove themselves inadequate in one way or another? Too weak and uncertain, too eager, too cruel or greedy? I imagine there weren't many who could see you the way I see you, Holmes..." Collins took his face in his hands, running his thumbs across his cheekbones. "I _see_ you. And you and I, oh, we're going to have so much fun."

Holmes shivered deliciously, his eyes fluttering closed. "Oh God, sir, please. _Please_." His voice was little more than a low trembling moan, and Collins shuddered at the sound of it.

Collins guided his head low, spreading his thighs even further, taking his cock in one hand and holding it back. He pressed Holmes' nose into the soft, hot flesh of his bollocks. "These first. Take your time, Holmes. Make me _desperate_ for it." He bit back his first sharp gasp as Holmes opened his mouth and laid the flat of his tongue on whatever bit of flesh was there. Collins kept one hand on his head, not pushing or pressing, just continuing to comb his fingers through his soft red hair. Holmes shifted his head, twisting and nudging gently, his lips and tongue in constant motion over and across and under, oh, so far under.

"Oh, God. Of course you'd have a superbly talented tongue. Most sluts do. _Mm_. Maybe next time I'll sit on your face and let you eat me out." There was a low muffled moan, and this time, Collins couldn't hold back on his gasp of delight. "We could both climb into that ridiculously huge tub, and we could take our time washing ourselves so very thoroughly and if you do a good job, maybe I'd even return the favour." Another quiet moan of approval, a gentle nip at his perineum. "Shit."

Holmes sucked one heavy bollock into his mouth and rolled it over his tongue, humming vaguely. He let it drop from his mouth and took in the other one, lazily opening his eyes and looking up into Collins' dark gaze. He let out another deep rolling hum, and Collins swore loudly as his cock jumped in his hand.

"Fuck." The hand that had idly been petting Holmes tightened in his hair. "I can't. I just _can't_. Open up, slut." Collins angled his cock toward the open mouth that was eagerly awaiting it. "Suck me off, whore. Make me see stars." Holmes needed no further encouragement, immediately taking him in all the way to the root. Collins' head whipped back as his hands braced against the mattress. He leant back slightly and rolled his hips forward before laughing quietly. "Of course. Of course you don't have a fucking gag reflex. Jesus fucking Christ, it's like you were bloody well _made_ for sucking cock, Holmes."

Another muffled moan as Holmes worked his throat around the head of Collins' cock, spurring him into swifter, harder thrusts. Holmes fluttered his tongue, keeping it firmly pressed toward the roof of his mouth as Collins moved faster. "Jesus fuck, yes oh _fuck_!" Collins clutched at Holmes' head and kept moving through his orgasm, finally pulling out as the suction became a touch too painful. He flopped back on the bed as Holmes settled back on his heels once again, a smug look settling in around his eyes as he licked his lips of excess spittle.

Once Collins had composed himself, or had at least managed to regain clear vision, he sat back up and slid the condom off. Without a word, Holmes took it from him and rose to his feet, retreating to the bathroom. There was the sound of running water, and he quickly returned with a warm, damp flannel. Collins noted that his hands were clean as he gently wiped him down, but he had left the long, dried streaks of come on his belly as a concession to his demand to see him filthy. After his brief bout of tidying up Collins' person, Holmes settled back on his heels on the floor once again.

"Did I serve well, sir? Did you see stars as requested?"

Collins laughed. "Too right I did." He stood and began to wrestle his pants and trousers back up. "Can't wait to feel that tongue on me properly. And I bet you can't wait to taste me properly."

Holmes hummed low, licking his lips salaciously. "Oh, no, sir. I shall be awaiting you most anxiously next time."

Collins quirked his head and sat back down after having settled his clothing. "Right. And how often will this be happening?"

Holmes’ voice settled into something a little more business-like. "I find once or twice a week to be relatively satisfying, although it depends greatly on my regular duties and the, well - gentleman involved."

"And these gentlemen - how many do you generally entertain at one time?"

Holmes glanced down at his hands. "I prefer to entertain only one at a time, sir. But as you so skilfully saw before - it sometimes takes me a while to find a suitable - playmate. If you're willing to have me, sir..."

Collins snorted. "With a mouth like that? 'Course I'm willing."

Holmes looked up with a small smile. "Oh, thank you, sir. I do not require that you stay faithful to me if you do not wish to. Honesty is always preferable to deception, of course - I do wish to know about any other affairs. To keep myself healthy, you understand."

Collins reached out to caress his face. "Oh, Holmes. At least you have _some_ regard for yourself." The redhead blinked rapidly, his expression showing only confusion. "I'm not seeing anyone at present, and I will most certainly let you know if that changes. In some ways, this will be the ideal situation, won't it? I was always afraid that my job would hamper any potential relationships, but we both know exactly what we're in for, don't we?"

"Oh, yes, sir. You do understand, sir, that whatever relationship we may cultivate, it must stay within the confines of these rooms."

"I'm very aware, Holmes. But that's all right. There's a decent sofa and a nice telly, and even a kitchen, so you can cook for me. You do like to cook, don't you?" Holmes' mouth dropped open as he nodded dumbly. "Thought so. It'll be a real treat to see you skipping about wearing naught but a frilly little apron... You can feed me a nice juicy steak and then I'll feed you my nice fat cock."

Holmes moaned. "Oh... Oh, _sir_..."

"Yup. We're gonna get along just fine. Although..." Collins sat back and fixed him with a serious look. "I think I'm going to be able to give you what you need for the most part, Holmes, but I have a feeling... I have a feeling that sooner or later, it won't be enough. I know you have your eye on someone in particular, and I can pretty much tell you that he's the one you really need. But you're not ready yet. Either of you."

Collins almost laughed at Holmes' wide-eyed look of shock. "But sir - how?"

"I'm guessing you didn't review my CV before sliding that card into my cubby. Degree in Psych. My professor always told me how uncanny my analyses were. She said it was like I could just crack the subject's brain open and reach in to pull out the source of the issue. When I said I see you, I meant it. I see your pain, your lack of self-worth. 'Course, you made it easy on me, bringing me here. This set-up isn't to protect your job or your reputation, it's because you don't feel that you actually deserve an actual, real-life relationship. Hell, Holmes - this - this set of rooms? This is more than just your libido. It's your secret heart. All tucked away in a warren of obstacles and stiff, silent guardians. Little wonder so few have passed through your barriers, and no wonder so many were judged to be unworthy."

Holmes heaved out a quiet gust of breath. "You sound remarkably like my younger brother."

Collins tilted his head. "But he's usually cruel about it, isn't he?"

This time his breath was sucked in rather sharply. "Yes, sir."

Collins delivered a piercing look. "You love him very much in spite of all that, don't you? A great deal of your excess energy is wrapped up in looking after him, although he continually rejects you. It's gotten worse lately. Drugs, perhaps." Collins slowly tilted his head to the other side, his eerily dark eyes fixed on Holmes, who was kneeling utterly silent and still before him. "Hence your interest in Greg. He's become involved in your brother's life somehow, and you see him as key to his recovery. The purpose of the surveillance is to make sure he doesn't have any skeletons in his closet. You're protecting your little brother - again. How much of your life has been spent in looking after him?"

"From the moment he was born."

"And until the moment he dies."

"Only if I do not pass before him, sir."

Collins abruptly shook his head. "It's getting to be a bit much, isn't it? I am sorry. I get on a roll, and my mouth just blabs on. You need some time to process. I'll understand if I don't get another card. But I do hope you'll consider me the next time you get the urge. Like I said, I believe we'd have quite a _lot_ of fun together."

Collins stood and then bent down to take Holmes' shoulders in a firm grip, guiding him back up onto his feet. Once he was standing, Collins grasped his face in both hands and drew him down for a very sweet but very thorough kiss. Both men were breathing slightly heavier as Collins released Holmes and walked out the bedroom door. Mycroft listened intently as there was a shuffling of fabric as Collins put his jacket back on and then the quiet click of the outer door, indicating that he was once again alone.

He stood dazed for a moment and then retreated to the bathroom as per his usual cool-down after a scene. Mycroft decided to draw a bath for himself to give his disordered mind time to sort out the jumble of information, to give his body time to recover. He wasn't even sure why he had presented Collins with the card in the first place, except as a means to get to know him a bit better. Right from the start, he had been impressed with the way the man had seemingly ignored him in favour of fully investigating his surroundings.

And his use of that debasing language too - being called those untoward names had sent such a shiver of delight racing along his spine. But of course, Collins had known that it would, because he had seen that was how Mycroft truly thought of himself. Oh, he was far more clever than Mycroft had first been aware of. A mind as sharp as a blade, slicing right through to the core of things. Oh, yes. He would definitely be keeping this one. He reached for his phone.

_'Friday, 7pm. George will be waiting. No card necessary, my people will recognise you.'_

_'Understood.'_

Mycroft bit his lip in heady anticipation. _'Thank you, sir.'_

He swiftly changed tack, curious to see how Collins would react. _'Collins. I find your insights intriguing. Please prepare a report on your target from earlier this evening. Include all observations, no matter how slight.'_

_'I'll have it on your desk by 10am, sir. Is that acceptable?'_

_'Quite. Thank you, Collins.'_

_'My pleasure. Sir.'_

Mycroft sighed with bliss as he slid into the tub. Yes, he certainly knew how to play the game. Perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to Greg, and a day in the life...

Greg slid back into the booth across from Freddie, ignoring his friend's uncharitable laughter.

"Really thought you had an easy one there for a sec, Greggy."

"Yeah, well, when wifey calls..."

Fred pulled a face. "Ouch."

Greg snorted and fiddled with his nearly-empty pint glass. He found himself thinking back to his awkward conversation with Edward from the evening before. He'd pretty much admitted that he wanted something more permanent with the man, and yet... In the less than 24 hours that they had been apart, he had slept with another bloke in his bed, flirted with that bloke's brother, and then blatantly come on to a complete stranger in his pub!

Greg shook his head and mentally wagged a finger at himself. _'Jesus, Greg, you've gotta knock this shit off. Stop acting like such a slut. If you want Edward to commit to you, you have to do the same, y'know.'_

But did he want a commitment? It was such early days, and he had just discovered this side of himself. Why not have some fun first? He shook his head again. Because he was thirty-seven fucking years old, that was why. Act like a goddamn adult for once, you git. Greg ran through his mental list; cleaning up the house, packing up some shit, looking through flat listings nearer to the city, officially put in for that transfer... Fuck. Better get started, then. He drained his glass and waved off Freddie's offer for another.

"Nah. Thanks, but I got shit I gotta get done."

Fred chuckled. "Don't we all, mate."

Greg nodded glumly and promised to call and make arrangements for his bike later. As he stood, Fred gave him a careful once-over.

"I'll throw in extra for the gear, Greggy."

" _Pfft_. I just got the seat to fit the way I like, Freddie." He turned and gave his arse a wiggle. "You're too damn runty, you'd swim in this gear. I'm keeping it for when I get another."

Fred guffawed. "Think you'll still fit in it twenty years from now?" He winked at Greg over the lip of his pint-glass. "You just want to give all the boys an eyeful, don't you, Greggy?" Fred made a kissy-face at his friend, and Greg threw him a double-finger salute on the way out of the pub.

Back at the house, he managed at least to get the kitchen clean and sitting room mostly sorted before deciding to reward himself with one bottle of lager. What with dealing with Nora, Edward and then Sherlock all in one weekend, he felt he deserved it. His body seemed to disagree, however, as he didn't manage to finish half of it before passing flat out on the sofa.

Greg awoke with a start the next morning, relieved to find that he hadn't overslept or soiled the sofa with his unfinished lager. After washing up, he put on his least rumpled suit and headed out into the day, wearing his 'get shit done' face. He had a couple of leads to follow out on the street on his latest case anyway, so he took the opportunity to show Sherlock's photo around to all of his contacts.

There were those on the street who instinctively distrusted and avoided anyone with a little bit of copper in their blood, but there were even more who appreciated the benefits that doing a cop a favour could garner them. So most agreed that if they saw the kid doing something stupid, they'd get word to Greg as soon as possible. Greg graced them all with his easy grin, and greased their palms with a quid or two that he could ill afford. Some took doughnuts as their reward, although one rather smelly old lady insisted on a kiss on her cheek. Greg had cheerfully complied, wondering once again what it was about this Sherlock bloke that had him so twisted up.

When he got back to his desk at the Met, having stopped in the loo to wash his hands (and face) quite thoroughly, he was called to the Detective Superintendent's office before his bum had even hit the chair. Cursing inwardly, he swiftly strode over to his office and knocked at the half-open door.

"Come in, Lestrade. Been expecting you." He indicated the chair in front of his desk and Greg sat, perching uneasily on the edge.

"Ah. Sorry, sir. I was out following some leads on the Franklin case, was just about to type up my notes."

"Anything good?"

"Not much, I'm afraid. There was something that Fingers bloke told me that I need to follow up on - check my other notes. Something that might fit - somewhere..." Greg trailed off, forgetting where he was as his mind drifted, putting seemingly random puzzle pieces together.

Detective Superintendent Charles chuckled quietly. "You run a bit on instinct, don't you, lad?"

Greg sputtered, suddenly coming back to himself. "Sir?"

"That's quite all right, I've done a fair amount of daydreaming that led to results in my day." He fixed Greg with a steely look. "You've been brought to my attention, Lestrade." Greg blanched slightly, not entirely comfortable with his superior’s tone. "It's my understanding that you've been putting out feelers for a possible transfer."

"Oh, that." Greg felt himself relax minutely. "Yes, sir. I was going to put in for it officially this afternoon."

"Homicide, is it?"

"DCI Perkins is retiring, sir. Not putting in for his position, of course. Got a few steps to go - but I thought that once all the shifting was done, there'd be a place for me somewhere in there. Hopefully."

"Yes, well, you're quite right. Not just a place, but a promotion."

Greg shifted uneasily in his chair. "Beg pardon?"

"Detective Sergeant. Once you've cleared all the cases you've got on your desk, we'll be moving you over. You'll be under DI Lees - good man, if a bit strict. I think you'll do very well in his team."

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand, sir. This isn't how things usually happen."

Charles fixed him with an appraising stare. "You seem to have picked up a patron, Lestrade. You attracted his attention, somehow, and he's appealed to me on your behalf. Made quite the case for you, and after reviewing your files, I find that he's quite correct. You're a solid worker, Greg, but there's more in there than just dedication. You have that instinct and drive, but you haven't really let that out yet. We're going to change all that, aren't we?"

Greg stared at him, his mouth hanging open stupidly. A - what? "Oh, um. Yes, sir. I suppose we are."

His superior chuckled again. "Sorry, lad, can't tell you his name. Shouldn't have told you about him at all, but he should have known better than to think you wouldn't find this all highly suspicious. After singing your praises and all..." Greg blushed. "Go on, get back to those notes of yours. I'm sure you'll find your answer before too long."

Greg didn't bother to ask if the answer was meant for the Franklin case or this new personal mystery - not that he really had to wrack his brains for long. _'Minor role in the British government, my arse.'_ Once he got back to his desk he pulled a card out from his wallet and placed a call.

"Holmes."

"What in the _bloody hell_ are you playing at, Mr. Holmes?"

Mycroft had to suppress a little shiver of delight at the angry tone in Lestrade's voice. "May I ask whom I am speaking with?"

"You know _exactly_ who this is. Where do you get off coming into my place of work and harassing my superiors?"

"There was no harassment necessary, Detective Constable Lestrade. Or should I say Detective Sergeant?"

Greg hissed. "Not yet. Not until I clear a couple of things off my desk."

"Excellent. No, Lawrence and I are old acquaintances. After reviewing your work, I simply felt that it was prudent to share my observations with him. He sometimes has blinders on regarding the people that work with and for him. Not a very proactive sort, your Detective Superintendent. I posited that you had been shockingly underutilised in your current capacity, and he quite agreed with me. I was just lobbying for the transfer; Lawrence is the one who suggested the promotion on top of that."

Mycroft found that the lie rolled off his tongue easier than most. In fact, he had brought the Detective Superintendent here to his offices in the usual way; spirited away from the Met's carpark in a stately black car, flanked by two large, stony-faced guards. Charles had been frightened out of his wits, even though this had not been their first meeting; he should have known better than to think any harm would come to him.

But little men like him, with little minds - if they had the kind of power that Mycroft so casually displayed, well, they knew what they would do with it, and so why shouldn't they tremble? Never mind that Mycroft had not been cursed with such a small mind, which was precisely the reason why he was the one behind this desk, and they weren't.

Mycroft had passed over Lestrade's file with a small smile. "He's to be promoted and moved to Homicide." Charles' eyebrows had risen up his forehead and he had given Mycroft an incredulous look. Mycroft had sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yes, I know I said I would never interfere with your authority, but you cannot deny this is something that the man deserves. Look over the file yourself, his work has been nothing but exemplary."

The Detective Superintendent's eyebrows continued to dance over his brow as he read and considered. He nodded in agreement. "And if I do this..."

Mycroft sighed again. The unspoken 'what will I get in return' was far too obvious. He had looked the man over with a steady, cold gaze. At heart, Lawrence Charles was a petty, boorish individual. Whatever he asked in return, it would be insignificant in relation to the benefit that would be afforded to Gregory. Mycroft unfolded his hands and gestured with a small smirk. "Consider it a personal favour, Lawrence." He swallowed at the naked greed that instantly flooded the man's watery blue eyes. "Within reasonable bounds, of course." Charles had frowned, but nodded. Arrangements were made, and agreed upon.

And with that seemingly simple exchange, Gregory Lestrade's life had been neatly steered along a different path, one with more prosperity in its future. At least, that was Mycroft's hope. It would ultimately be up to the man himself to see that this chance didn't go to waste.

Mycroft snapped his attention back to the present as Gregory damn near growled in his ear. He shivered with delight.

"You reviewed my work? How did you even _know_ about the transfer, I hadn't even put in for it yet! How - what - why - err..."

Mycroft waited until Greg's voice petered out into silence, swallowing down his smile so his voice would remain neutral. "All excellent questions, Lestrade, and they will serve you quite well in your new capacity, I'm sure." Mycroft allowed himself a tiny grin as Gregory sputtered angrily once more. "However, I am unable to answer many of them at this moment. I can tell you why. You have become involved with my brother in one way or another, and I wanted to be sure that he would be - safe - with you. Please do not take offence, as none is meant. I just needed to be sure, you understand?"

Greg made a noncommittal noise. "Yeah, I guess."

"And when I was looking into you, as I _said_ I would, I saw an opportunity to perhaps assist you somewhat in your new start on life. I don't often have the chance to help people, Lestrade, and I wanted to show you some gratitude for the support that you have offered to my little brother. That is all. This is not a bribe, nor an attempt to ingratiate myself. I swear to you."

Greg sighed deeply. "I think I understand your motivations, Mr. Holmes. But it was a rather fucked-up way of going about things. I appreciate what you've done, but it's not to happen again, understand? We Lestrades rather like being able to get things done on our own."

Mycroft congratulated himself on amending the agreement with Charles to review Gregory's work in five years' time for another promotion. "Hence going behind your back, Detective Sergeant."

"Fucker." Greg couldn't hold back his little snort of laughter, and was rather pleased to hear a breathy chuckle in his ear in return.

"I'd be more than happy to send you some information regarding your search for a new flat as well..."

Greg's eyes narrowed. "That definitely wasn't in any file." He sucked in a quick breath as realisation dawned. "I _knew_ there was something up with that damn cabbie! That contraption of his - way too fancy. Have you been spying on me, you dirty little fucker?"

"Lower your voice, Lestrade. I'm sure you're attracting the wrong sort of attention."

"How would you even know? Are there cameras in here as well? Jesus fucking Christ, do you have no limits?"

"Calm yourself. I have a few - resources, that's all. As I told you, I wanted to be sure that you were safe for Sherlock. I've done my reconnaissance, it's finished. We can never speak again after this, if that is your wish. Please, just calm down."

Greg took in a deep breath and let it out shakily, looking around the office surreptitiously. There were a few glances being tossed his way, but for the most part, people were steadfastly ignoring him. He shrugged it off. Most of the people that he was friendly with here knew about the divorce; they were probably assuming that his little outburst had something to do with that.

"Fine. Yes, send it along, and after that we're done unless it's to do with Sherlock. You understand? You and your _resources_ are to leave me alone, Mr. Holmes." He paused, recalling twinkling dark eyes and an impish grin. "Unless... That cabbie of yours - Jack. I don't suppose you have his number?" Greg deepened his voice slightly. He found himself remembering the moment that had interrupted their near-shag, and suddenly knew _exactly_ who had been on the other end of the line. "You broke up a very interesting conversation, you know. I'd rather like to pick up the thread of his thoughts again. Unless you really are his wifey, of course."

Mycroft's voice was cold, shaking with suppressed anger and desire. "I am afraid that Collins has been - reassigned, Detective Sergeant. He will be unavailable for quite some time."

Never mind that the man's number was firmly lodged in Mycroft's brain, considering the play that they had engaged in just the night before. He suddenly recalled the pressure of Collins' booted feet on the backs of his thighs as he lay spread out on the floor before him and had to bite back a heated moan.

Greg smirked as he caught the barest sound of a oh-so-quiet whimper. God, why was this man so easy to tease? And why did he like doing it so much? "What a shame, Mr. Holmes. Ah well. Guess I'll have to find my entertainment elsewhere."

"As long as it isn't with my little brother, Detective Sergeant, I have absolutely no desire to know how you entertain yourself."

Greg huffed out a wicked little laugh before lowering his voice quite deliberately. _"Liar."_ He drew out the word, tapering it off with a little growl.

Mycroft whimpered again, unable to control himself. Christ, at this rate, he'd never last until Friday evening. He wrestled himself back into some semblance of a functioning adult and cleared his throat. "Lestrade. As enlightening as this has been, I do have other duties to attend to. I am sure that you do as well. Perhaps we will talk again, but if not, I wish you well. Do pass along my regards to Sherlock when you happen to see him again."

"Yeah. Yeah, I will. Thanks for - whatever, Mr. Holmes." He chuckled again, feeling the need to get in one last jab. "And you pass along my sincere regards to your man Jack. Pass along my number too, there's a lad." Greg hung up on Holmes' outraged squawk, grinning to himself foolishly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade in his flat, and Mycroft in his office...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. I've been so wrapped up in the future for my boys that I've been neglecting the past a bit... The muse struck, and so here we have some of our lovely Lestrade, in his sparkling new flat, after divorce proceedings have been put in place. And there's a little of Mycroft perving, and a little bit of Collins as well...
> 
> So, yes, smut ensues, and there will of course be more to follow. 
> 
> (I know this isn't the most popular part of my series, but I'd still love to know what everyone thinks... Kisses, my darlings!)

Three months later saw Lestrade tucked away in his very own flat in the city. All right, so it was little bigger than a bloody biscuit tin, but at least it was his. He had looked into some of the flat listings that Holmes had sent him, but it was clear that they were all very much out of his price range, no matter how much the estate agents insisted that the price quoted was genuine. Lestrade could easily see the unease and desperation behind their eyes, and wondered just what it was that Holmes had on these people to convince them to take at least half, if not less, than their usual asking price.

He shook his head. Clearly the man was a tyrant of some sort, although he seemed to be under some delusion that he was truly being helpful. He simply didn't know how to go about it without spreading his power and influence about. Greg sighed heavily. Poor sod. He wondered idly if Holmes had anyone normal in his life, anyone to keep his feet on the earth, where they belonged.

He frowned to himself. Why would that even matter? Holmes was not his concern - neither of them were. Not that he didn't wonder and worry about the younger version, more than he felt was really healthy for him. One of the first things he did after settling himself into 'Home Sweet Tin' was to seek out the local homeless population, once again showing the lad's photo, greasing palms and filling bellies as he went. He also made a point of going out every fortnight or so with a box full of cheap pastries and fast-food burgers; not only to build trust, but because far too many were kids, and dammit, kids needed food. Most knew he was a copper, but hell, he was one of the good ones, and besides that, it wasn't difficult to trust one Gregory Lestrade when he grinned in that particularly easy way of his.

Despite all of his efforts, Greg hadn't heard a peep about or from his lost little soul, and he couldn't help but hope that the skinny git was at least alive, if not moderately healthy, and not lying in a bin somewhere, utterly blissed out or something worse. Sherlock had said that he would find him if necessary, and Greg had no doubt that he would certainly be able to make good on that threat. Until then, he would just wait and worry, and do his damnedest not to end up with some indefinable intestinal ailment because of it.

He sighed again and took the two steps required to get from the sitting room/bedroom to the kitchen, and spent a little time perusing the contents of his solitary food cupboard. He wasn't hungry, not really, but his stomach was uneasy and he felt the need to give it something to chew on besides itself. Crackers, then. Greg leant up against the worktop as he nibbled, surveying his vast domain. He snorted to himself. Tiny kitchen, tinier toilet, a dreadful sofa that folded out to an even more dreadful bed, and the ridiculously tiny telly that was the only possession that he had brought with him from his old life. Well, besides his rumpled clothing and his ceramic frog, of course.

He turned to where it was sitting next to the microwave and gave it an awkward pat. "Stupid thing," he murmured. It glared up at him as it always did, and Greg let out a snort of laughter. _'Starting to crack, old lad. How the hell did we end up like this? Oh, yeah. Mid-life crisis, suddenly coming over gay and getting divorced... Right, right.'_ He looked around again with a weary sigh and decided to start getting ready. He was to meet Edward at the club later, so at least he knew that he wouldn't be breaking his back on that lumpy-arse mattress tonight. Not that he spent most of his nights here, anyhow...

No, even though he still wasn't sure exactly what he had with Edward, most nights saw him at his posh flat instead, either watching his huge telly, or curled up in his luscious bed. Sometimes Edward was there next to him, and sometimes he wasn't. But he didn't seem to mind when Greg left a toothbrush, and started to 'forget' certain articles of clothing, simply leaving them lying about.

Okay, so maybe E minded the last bit, since he eventually cleaned out a drawer in his bureau and designated it as 'Greg's rubbish bin'. Despite all of that, even with Greg coming and going seemingly as he pleased, using the key that Edward had given him, they had yet to formalise anything. The thought always gave Greg pause, always made his stomach flip. But for whatever reason, whenever he attempted to have that conversation; Edward's warm hazel eyes would lock onto his, and the questions Greg had on his tongue would simply vanish. Mostly because he would be busily stuffing said tongue into Edward's oh-so-talented mouth, or trailing it down that divinely muscled torso.

Greg shivered as his daydream bloomed into a full-on erotic remembrance, and his prick twitched appreciatively in his loose pants. _'Mm, yes. A nice, healthy wank in the shower - now that's a_ proper _start to an evening out, in't it?'_ He absentmindedly tucked the crackers back into the cupboard and headed for the bathroom, wincing as the too-bright light snapped immediately to full brilliance. He turned on the water in the cubicle shower and took a satisfying piss as it heated.

He sighed again as he stuffed himself into the shower, this time in bliss. The one positive thing about his lovely new home was an abnormally large water heater, and Greg took advantage of it at every possible moment. All right, so the flat was crap, but at least it was his. All his, and he was beholden to no-one, and damn if that wasn't a fine feeling. He felt his muscles loosen under the strong spray and let his mind wander as he lathered up his hair.

He was able to call up his fantasy quickly, since it was the same one that he'd been fixated on for a few weeks now. In it, Edward had finally relented and had him bent over the back of his sofa and was just pounding into him ruthlessly. Greg was hard in an instant, and pressed a hand to the wall to steady himself as he let the deliciously hot water cascade over him, rinsing the suds from his head.

He reached out for the small bottle of conditioner that he kept in the shower for just this purpose, and slicked up both hands. His right stroked his shaft as his left cradled his bollocks briefly, simply taking pleasure in the heft of them, the lovely rounded smoothness. Greg grinned to himself. For some reason, he had never given much thought to these particular dangly bits before taking up with Edward, but now that he knew how good it felt to tug on them a certain way... _Oh._ Oh, yes. He let his hand slip a little further behind, rubbing along his perineum firmly. _Ungh._

Now for the awkward bit. If he had been lying down, he'd try from the front, but crouching down in this stupidly small shower just was not a feasible option. So he twisted his torso and reached behind and down and oh - yes, just a bit, just a bit... And yes, his middle finger was in. Not deep, no - just enough for him to wiggle it a little, to feel his inner muscles clenching down, caressing his digit the way it would Edward's beautiful cock. Greg closed his eyes, recalling his fantasy again, and oh - he could almost feel those wonderful large hands clutching tight to his hips as Edward held him steady, as he thrust in deep and hard and brutal. He rocked between his hands frantically, tightening his fist around his cock even as he tried to shove his finger in further and it was bare moments before his back arched and his breath stuttered and he was coming in great splashes against the wall of the cubicle.

Greg took in a large wracking breath and held it temporarily as his head swam alarmingly. He leant his forehead against the wall as he shifted, wincing slightly as he removed his hand from his arse. Not that it was sore at all, it just felt a little weird when his arousal was no longer forefront in his mind. In fact, E had been a little more attentive to his bum lately, letting a small flicker of hope burn bright in Greg's chest. They hadn't discussed it again, but whenever Edward went down on him, he'd slip a finger or two up there, making Greg's belly swoop and sing every damn time.

If Greg had any disposable funds, he'd just go get a toy, something he could play with on his own, something he could maybe wear so he'd just be ready for E to take the plunge, as it were. But the good stuff was expensive, and while Greg had no problem whatsoever with raiding the bargain bins in the shops, sex toys were something that he absolutely refused to go discount on. He slowed his breathing and took his time as he lathered up with his favourite minty soap. No, it would happen, and sometime soon. He could be patient a bit longer.

Greg grinned and shook his head as he rinsed thoroughly. As long as it really was just 'a bit' longer. He figured he could give it about a fortnight further before he'd simply snap and tie his lover to the bed and bloody well ride him to completion like he was a sodding stallion or something... He snorted as he turned off the water and grabbed a towel on his way out, running it over his head vigorously. He dripped through the kitchen and laid the towel out on the sofa before flopping down on his back, letting the faint breeze coming in from the open windows dry him off.

He braced one foot on the arm of the sofa and left the other on the floor, letting his knees drop open. Okay, so another good thing about his home was that it was a third-floor flat, so the chances that anyone was peeping were pretty damn remote, and he could prance around just as starkers as he liked. Not that anyone would want to peep at his sorry old arse anyway. Unless... A sudden thought struck him.

Greg sat up and peered through his windows. There was something rather odd about that building across the way... He wasn't sure why, it just seemed too quiet, and it had made his gut twinge with suspicion from the moment he had moved in. The third floor was always dark, but the window that faced his was usually open. Greg often stood there with his morning tea, just staring out into the street, and he was sure that he'd seen a flicker of motion upon occasion, something like a flash of light reflecting off metal. He grinned wickedly as his prick twitched. Like maybe there was a camera... Greg giggled to himself. Oh, of _course_ the poncy git was watching - he just couldn't help himself, could he?

Rather than feeling rightfully outraged - as he bloody well _should_ \- Greg found himself idly fingering his slowly hardening cock instead. The idea that someone was watching - that someone even wanted to watch - well... Apparently that idea was doing things to him. Greg hadn't even been aware of any streaks of exhibitionism within himself, but now he suddenly wanted, no - needed - to explore the idea.

So he stood and sauntered over to the window, moving slowly, deliberately. He leant against the sill, smirking to himself as he realised that it was just high enough to cut off the view to his groin quite nicely. Oh, what a tease this would be. Greg would either have to take a step or two back, or stand on his tip-toes if he wanted to reveal himself completely. But why would he want that? Instead he stretched his arms over his head, grasping the frame and leaning into the open window pane lightly. He turned his head into the sudden breeze that picked up, relishing in the cool feel of it brushing over his skin.

Then he lazily locked his eyes on the window across the way, and let one hand start to wander down his body.

Somewhere across town, Mycroft's terribly expensive fountain pen dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers. He blinked rapidly as Lestrade’s figure filled his laptop screen, his dark eyes glinting dangerously. He had only kept the feed open out of mild curiosity, as nothing that the Detective Sergeant had done thus far had tripped any of his alarms. Really, the poor man had barely any life at all. It mostly revolved around his job, much like Mycroft's did. He apparently had a partner or regular lover of some sort, since it seemed that he rarely spent the night in that horrid flat, but Mycroft had chosen not to pursue that line of enquiry. Mostly due to the fact that there was no point in viewing the competition, because there _was_ no competition. Gregory Lestrade was not, and never would be, his. Mycroft chose instead to catch his glimpses where he could, and did not actively seek to depress himself any further than necessary.

But now the man was standing utterly nude in full view of his cameras, bloody well posing - and oh - stroking himself. Oh sweet _God_. He knew, of course he knew. His instincts were keen, and seeing as how he was currently in a heightened state of awareness... Oh. Mycroft squirmed in his chair as Lestrade's head tipped back in ecstasy, one hand raised over his head, pulling his torso taut, the other hand stroking along his belly, following the dark treasure trail lower and lower still, tugging on something that was just below his line of vision. Oh, you vile tease, you horrible incubus... You beautiful, gorgeous, completely unobtainable vision.

Mycroft felt his entire body flush from head to toe as Gregory apparently cried out and hunched slightly, his free hand clutching at the windowsill as the other moved over himself, his arm jerking harder and faster. There was a hot flash of something deep in Mycroft's gut as Gregory's face twisted into a harsh grimace but then instantly smoothed out into blissful relief. He took a moment to collect himself, leaning against the window frame as his breathing steadied. With a small smirk, Gregory wiggled his soiled fingers at the window across the way, and then began to lap up his mess with nimble pulls of his devilish tongue.

Mycroft shuddered violently and clapped his hands to the arms of his chair hard, listening to the wood and leather creaking under his fingers. Christ. What a horrid, delightful man. With another tiny finger-wiggle and a devastatingly wicked grin (Jesus, those dimples should be illegal), the exhibitionist slid out of view of the voyeur, his dirty little game won quite handily. Mycroft simply quivered where he sat, too overcome with lust, too preoccupied with the deep throbbing of his own hard cock to even think.

He fumbled for the intercom and cleared his throat before buzzing Anthea. "Collins. Get him in here as soon as humanly possible."

"Of course, sir. Is there a situation?"

Mycroft nearly let out a sharp burst of giggles before biting his bottom lip hard. _'Yes, my dear, I suppose you could call a raging hard-on something of a situation...'_

"Nothing you need concern yourself with, Anthea. Collins will handle it. Just send him right in."

He dithered momentarily, debating how best to proceed. Up until now, they had kept strictly to the rules that Mycroft had established, keeping their carnal activities isolated to his private suite at the club. Collins had been properly deferential to him here at the offices, and the one time that they had unexpectedly happened upon one another while out in public, he had behaved as they didn't even know each other. He had let his gaze slide down Mycroft's long body and back up again, but his entire demeanour had only been that of a stranger ogling another stranger on the city streets, and nothing more. In fact, the memory brought a tingle of another sort buzzing into Mycroft's brain. The way his dark, almost black, eyes had coolly assessed his worth and then clearly found him lacking, dismissing him without a second thought - _oh_. The man certainly could read Mycroft like an open book, and nearly everything that he did struck right to the core of him.

Collins had been perfect thus far, and as loath as Mycroft was to change the rules of their game, he simply could not hold back right at this moment. He supposed that he could have taken care of the situation on his own, as Collins had not placed any restrictions on him in that manner, but he instinctively knew that it would not suffice. Lestrade had interacted with him, albeit in an anonymous fashion, and Mycroft knew that he needed interaction of a different kind to relieve this particular tension.

Moving purposefully, he stood and slid his suit jacket off, draping it over his chair. He toed his shoes off next to the bathroom door, leaving them there so Collins would know where to find him. The en suite was, of course, fully outfitted, so Mycroft took a plush towel from the cupboard and placed it near the tub, kneeling on the folded fabric and taking up his usual resting position as he waited for his 'handler' to arrive.

It didn't take him long, as Mycroft had made sure that Operations didn't send him out on any of their long games, keeping him relatively close for completely inappropriate reasons of his own. In fact, Collins had been loitering in the operatives' lounge, debating whether to go for Indian or Thai for supper, when he received the summons. It was unusual, but not the first time he'd been called to the Principal's office, and of course it would be business related; there wasn't any other option. He had his professional face on when he passed through the foyer of Holmes' office, and he did his best to ignore the dubious scowl on his P.A.'s face as she nodded curtly at him.

"He's expecting you."

Collins nodded in return and knocked twice before entering, closing the door behind him with a firm click. With a silent sweep of his dark eyes, he took in the discarded suit jacket, the open laptop, the shoes by the toilet door and groped behind himself until he found the lock and turned it securely. He drew in a steadying breath, flipping a small switch in his head and steeling his expression before striding over to the en suite, flinging the door open wide.

"Well, isn't this just a turn-up?" Collins narrowed his eyes as Holmes chanced a quick glance up at his face, blanching slightly. "Just what the hell is _this_ , Holmes? We have rules for a reason, you know." He crouched, clasping Mycroft's chin hard as he raised his face, looking into desperate grey eyes. "This - this is _beyond_ stupid. This is _dangerous_." He leant back and watched as long fingers dug into well-trousered thighs. "What on God's green earth possessed you to call on me in this capacity? Here - of all places!"

"Please, sir. I need you. Something - happened - and I find that my body is quite beyond my control and I _need_ you, sir... I need you to take control, I need to feel you take me, oh, please sir. Let me take you in my mouth, please use me as you wish, I - I need it so badly, sir..."

Collins stood abruptly and paced in front of the sink, frowning deeply in thought as he looked down at Holmes trembling under his scrutiny, looking rather desperate. Collins sighed as he closed the bathroom door and made sure it was also locked quite securely. Holmes looked up at him with a dim light of hope gleaming in his eyes.

"Expose yourself. Show me how badly you need me." Mycroft went up on his knees and fumbled at the zip of his trousers, pulling both them and his pants down to mid-thigh with one swift tug. He kept his eyes on Collins' feet as he lifted his shirt, completely exposing his red, leaking cock. "Oh, dear. That does look rather painful. And just why could you not simply come in here to your own lovely private bathroom and take care of the matter yourself?"

"Sir, it wouldn't be enough. My hand alone could not satisfy."

"And what brought you to this point, Holmes?"

Mycroft blushed furiously, and did not answer. He gasped as his hair was clutched hard, his head tipped backward suddenly. Collins' expression was tight and furious, and for one stark moment Mycroft thought that perhaps he had made a truly terrible mistake. But then something eased in those dark eyes, and Collins breathed out a quiet laugh.

"You were watching _him_ , weren't you? Of course it was him. He's the only one who could bring you to this point from behind the anonymity of a computer screen. But there was more to it, wasn't there?" Collins unwound his fingers from the back of Mycroft's head and took his chin in hand again, this time with a gentler grip. "He figured out you were watching, knew where the cameras were. He played with you, didn't he?" Collins laughed again, his tone ringing in the confined space. "How did he tease you, Holmes? Did he dance, do a little strip routine? Did he show himself like you're exposed to me now?" His eyes went a little wider as he watched Mycroft's face shift. "Oh my God, you lucky bastard. Were you actually able to watch as he pulled one out?"

Mycroft pouted slightly. "Yes, and no, sir. The camera's line of sight was imperfect, and his window sills are annoyingly high."

"So he made it perfectly clear what he was doing, but also made damn sure that you didn't get to see more than you deserved. Saucy little devil. More than a worthy opponent for the likes of you, eh?" He pursed his lips. "If I didn't know you were such a worthless coward, Holmes, I might even be jealous. But I don't have anything to worry about, do I? You'll never approach him. Not in that way." Collins' eyes swept over his trembling form disdainfully. "No, you're mine. At least for the moment, and I suppose there's no reason I shouldn't take advantage of that." Mycroft's eyes went wide and delighted as Collins began to tug at his own trousers. "Oh, but first..."

Collins dipped his hand into his pocket and once more crouched in front of his supplicant. He pulled out a thin leather strap dotted with snaps, and proceeded to wrap it around Mycroft's leaking prick and tight bollocks, cinching it in quite snug before snapping it in place. Mycroft's mouth opened and closed a few times in confusion. "Sir, why...?"

Collins smiled a little crookedly before bringing him in for a gentle yet heated kiss. "Kept it from last time. Dunno why, really. Just liked having the reminder, I guess." He stroked his lovely bound prick from root to tip slowly, his smile sharpening as Mycroft bit back a groan. "However, if you're going to continue to play your nasty little games, we may just have to find something to prevent this from happening again. I don't necessarily want to lock you up, Holmes, but if you can't control yourself..."

" _Nghk._ Sir. Oh, _sir_..."

Collins laughed again. "Yeah, then that's what we'll do. Now it's time for you to shut up. I'm going to fuck your mouth just the way you need, and you're not going to come until I say so."

He stood and unzipped himself, taking out his cock and stroking it gently as Mycroft opened his mouth eagerly. Collins smacked his stiff prick against one cheek and then the other before putting just the head on the flat of Mycroft's tongue. It quivered slightly, but Holmes held himself still, knowing that Collins was the one who would start the action, that he was the one who would set the pace.

"You may use your hands to brace yourself however you need, but no groping, either of me or yourself. Clear?" Mycroft closed his eyes slowly and held for a count of five before opening them again, reaching up to wrap his hands around the back of Collins' solid thighs as he pressed his feet flat against the side of the tub. "Good. Such an obedient whore."

Collins sighed wistfully as he looked down and ran one finger along Mycroft's jaw. "And I don't even have to pay you..."

With that, he slowly and deliberately wound one hand into Mycroft's tie and the other into the hair at the back of his head, ratcheting Mycroft's anticipation up to an almost unbearable degree. At Collins' little nod, Mycroft closed his lips around the head of that lovely cock and simply concentrated on keeping his teeth covered as his mouth was fucked deep and strong, yes, _exactly_ as he needed it, his tie being yanked with every thrust, making his brain go a little fuzzy with the lack of oxygen, but then the sharp pain of his hair being pulled hard bringing him back from the brink as Collins withdrew, only to sink in again and again and again... _Oh._

And then there it was, that small stutter in Collins' steady breaths that told him he was close, and Mycroft gripped his thighs a little tighter as he braced himself against the tub, because when he was near his finish, oh, he pushed in deep, so _deep_. Deep enough to completely cut off Mycroft's air, but of course he was prepared and took in a nice solid breath through his nose before Collins' prick twitched on his tongue and his come was pulsing, spurting down his throat and he swallowed it all gratefully as Collins withdrew, his breathing erratic and face flushed.

He grinned crookedly as Mycroft sucked in air and licked daintily at his swollen lips. "Made for it, I swear. You're a natural-born cocksucker, Holmes." Mycroft lowered his eyes bashfully and waited, returning his hands to rest on his legs. They trembled with his need for release, but he tried not to show it, pressing them hard against his taut thighs. Collins tucked himself away again and then started to rummage through cabinets and drawers.

"Sir? Is there something in particular that I might help you obtain?"

Collins grunted, his head deep in the cabinet under the sink. "I don't suppose there's any lube hanging about?"

Mycroft's stomach flipped lazily.  _"Um."_ He started to lift himself up on his knees, reaching for the bottom drawer. Collins shot him a look, and Mycroft instantly went back to his resting position, his eyes lowered deferentially. "Yes, that one. In the back, there should be a small toiletry bag."

"A- _ha._ " Collins pulled out a small bottle with a flourish. "Turn around, grab hold of that tub. Show me that lovely arse of yours, Holmes." Mycroft eyed him somewhat dubiously, but obediently did as he was told, rucking up his shirt as he bent over so that his naked bum was fully on display. Collins noted the tremors rippling up his thighs and splayed one hand on his lower back reassuringly. "Only fingers." Mycroft nodded as Collins slicked up his fingers and began to slide one in, going slow, but not pausing at all against the clench of muscles tightening down instinctively. "Although, I'm thinking that we're close, don't you?"

"Sir?" Mycroft grunted quietly as Collins began to wriggle his finger in a sort of circular pattern as he pushed and pulled within him.

"Close to you letting me fuck you properly." He withdrew and added a second finger, rotating his wrist and pressing down as he pushed in. Mycroft cried out in mixed pleasure-pain, the stimulation of his prostate almost too much for his bound cock to bear. Collins hummed in approval. "See? Two fingers in without any difficulty now. When I first saw to you, you could barely slide one in on your own - and you have terribly skinny fingers, Holmes. Oh, but now..."

Collins demonstrated by plunging his fingers in fast and hard, leaving Mycroft clinging to the side of the tub as his body was jolted and he gasped for breath. "Sir...oh, please sir. _Please_ let me come, I beg of you." A sob dropped from Mycroft's mouth as Collins suddenly stopped finger-fucking him, applying just a bit more lube before adding a third finger. He wasn't going fast now, but he was pushing in deep, wiggling his digits in random patterns, feeling his way around carefully. Mycroft let another choked cry escape from his throat. "Sir. Please."

 _"Mm."_ He reached around with his other hand and fiddled with the leather strap idly. "If I let you come now, you will swear to me that this will never happen again. Not here. Neither one of us can afford to have these activities come to light, you understand? You have been terribly irresponsible, Holmes, and you will be punished appropriately during our next meeting. Perhaps you should spend some time determining how you will make it up to me, eh?"

"Oh, yes sir. Anything you say, sir. You are quite correct, my behaviour has been grossly inappropriate and I do I regret my having to call on you in this manner. It will never happen again, I swear to you. Please, sir."

"All right. You may come, then." Collins hummed low and pulled the strap loose before firmly stroking from root to tip while simultaneously rubbing strong circles from within, and that was all it took for Mycroft to completely and utterly fall apart. His knuckles turned white from the pressure of his grip on the side of the tub and his body spasmed wildly as a string of nonsense syllables were forced from his mouth.

Collins laughed with delight even as he removed one sticky hand from an even stickier prick and continued to move the fingers of his other hand, still buried deep. Holmes' body jerked hard with every minute twitch, and Collins was almost positive that he was even dribbling a bit, his cheek pressed firmly against the side of the tub. He withdrew reluctantly, his fingers probing around Mycroft's tender hole delicately.

"Oh, look at you. Could take you right now, Holmes. You're so open, Jesus." He hummed low and continued to poke and prod as Mycroft froze, his entire body stiffening. "Such a greedy hole you have. Quite fitting for such a desperate whore."

"Sir?" Mycroft didn't bother to keep the anxious tremors out of his voice.

"No, no. Not now. Not _here_. Jesus, no." Collins sighed wistfully as he slid one finger in and out, in and out, in a slow and steady rhythm. "No. It's just _so_ lovely, Holmes. I know that you're going to feel so amazing." He sighed again and withdrew for the last time, pulling himself to his feet with a small groan. "When you're ready, of course."

Mycroft simply slumped down where he was, ignoring the small amount of mess he had left behind as Collins washed his hands thoroughly. He finally managed to move enough to get his pants and trousers back up over his hips and to get himself situated on the edge of the tub. Collins tutted briefly as he bent over him, straightening his tie and smoothing down his hair.

"Better, yes?"

"Yes sir. Please, allow me to apologise again."

"Unnecessary, Holmes. I will suggest, rather strongly, that you not view any additional surveillance you may have on one Gregory Lestrade here on the premises. At least not until we've had you fitted."

Mycroft blinked at him. "Fitted for what, sir?"

"Oh, how quickly one forgets when one is high on sex hormones. For a chastity device, of course."

_"Erm."_

"Although I hesitate to use that particular term, since I'm not actually worried about you straying, and we are both fully aware that you lost your virtue quite a long time ago, indeed, if you even had any to begin with. No, for you it will be about control. It will be about me holding your key, and me having control over your body, your desires. All of it, for me alone."

Mycroft's eyes were as wide as saucers as he fell to his knees once more. "Jesus Christ. Sir, oh - would you like me to suck you again? I will. Whatever you wish."

Collins grinned crookedly. "As tempting as that offer is, we are still in our place of business, Holmes. Save it for when we're back at your rooms. In the meantime, you have homework. Research some different cock-cages, and on my next visit we'll see about picking one out for you."

Mycroft simply nodded, his hands twisting awkwardly in front of him as Collins dropped a gentle kiss on the top of his head. "Until next time, then. Be sure to heed my warning about Lestrade. You cannot afford to let him distract you in this manner again."

"Yes sir. I quite agree."

"Of course you do. That's what you're for, after all." Collins took one more look at himself in the mirror before turning the lock and opening the door. "Watch out for your assistant as well. She'll certainly suspect something." Mycroft frowned and nodded, standing in the bathroom doorway as Collins strode across his office and out, dropping a sly wink as he closed the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg at the club, and Edward being, well...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yowza. Very interested to know what you all think of this...
> 
> (Love ya! *mwah*!)
> 
> Oh - a small warning for a tiny bit of homophobic language, nothing too damaging...
> 
> (Translations for Geoff's dialogue available [here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3859345/chapters/8618854))

Greg giggled to himself as he slid down the wall to the side of the window. God, what had possessed him to be so cheeky? Whatever. It was done, and whether he had given Holmes a little tease or not, there was nothing he could do about it now. His face burned suddenly with the thought that perhaps he had been mistaken, and maybe some old bird had gotten a free show instead. He giggled until he ran out of breath. _'Well, I'm never stepping foot outside this flat ever again, then!'_

He snorted at himself as he recovered and reached for his small chest of drawers, tugging out a fresh pair of black jeans. Greg wriggled into them right there on the floor, carefully tucking himself away, since he had foregone his pants. Another rummage brought out a plain black tee, and some socks. He pulled on his boots and stood, shaking the last of the post-orgasmic cobwebs out of his head as he stole a peek around the corner of the window. Nothing seemed to have changed...

Greg shook his head again and went back into the bathroom to survey himself in the small mirror. Okay, not so bad, especially after putting a little something in his hair to make it shine. He grinned as he looked down at himself. Nothing wrong with basic black, right? Fuck it, so he was lazy. So what. Didn't mean he didn't know how to work it to his advantage... E always seemed to appreciate whatever trouble he went to, anyhow.

He sighed as he turned off the bathroom light and looked around. Bit early yet, but the evening was cool and clear, and Greg felt that he could use a bit of a walkabout. Even if he had given some old lady a heart attack because of his little performance, he sure as hell couldn't stick around here for another minute, never mind an hour or more. So he grabbed his leather jacket, made sure he had wallet and keys, and set out into the night.

There was already a fair amount of foot traffic roaming the pavements outside the nightclubs of Soho, and Greg decided to just stand back for a moment to take in a show or two of his own. Damn, so many pretty boys, and all of them happily on display. He felt another pang of regret that it had taken him so long to figure this out, but this time the notion was purely selfish in nature. Fifteen, hell - ten - years ago, he would had have every single one of them eating out of his hand. Greg knew that he was a good enough looking bloke, even if the stupid grey hair had prematurely aged him a bit, but when he was in his late teens and early twenties, he had been damn fine. Gorgeous, even.

But now... He sighed as he ran one hand through his hair and stared down at his boots morosely as he leant up against a building, crossing his arms over his chest. Before too long there was a slight scuffling next to him, a faint outline of body heat pressed to the right side of his body. Greg looked up, surprised.

The man was young, not yet in his mid-twenties. Blond and stout, but not quite as chubby as he had been when Greg saw him last. He narrowed his eyes slightly as the boy smiled at him, all wide-eyed friendliness.

"Aiden, wasn't it?"

"Yup. Surprised to see you here, Detective Constable."

"Detective Sergeant, thank you very much."

"Oh, my. I guess congratulations are in order, then."

Greg sighed and looked him over. He didn't seem to be taking any kind of piss, even if there was a sly undertone to his voice. He decided to bite. "Thanks. So _why_ are you surprised to see me here?"

Aiden studied his fingernails briefly. "Didn't think you were one of us."

"If that's true, why all the dirty looks down at the Yard that night?" Greg snorted loudly. "Looked to me like you thought I was going to steal Scott right out from under your nose. Why act that way if you thought I was straight?"

The boy had the decency to look just a bit ashamed as he cleared his throat. "Yeah, well. That was just me being an arsehole, I'm afraid. I would like to apologise for that. And to thank you, actually." He grinned at Greg's questioning eyebrow. "My behaviour that night took even me a bit by surprise. So later, after I got some distance, I was able to look back and see that my relationship with Scott wasn't exactly the healthiest, so I put an end to it."

"Scott didn't really strike me as the relationship sort, mate."

Aiden grinned. "Yeah, that was part of it - he was always in play mode, and of course I wasn't the only one he was playing with. I wanted something more, he didn't. But I was a little too eager to take whatever he was willing to give, and too weak to ask for more. I'm in a much better place now, and some of that is because of you. So, thanks."

Greg grinned back and gave him a little shove with his elbow. "I'll accept both your apology and your thanks, even though I don't really think I had much to do with it. That's just part of growing up, lad."

"You could allow me to thank you a little more thoroughly..." Greg's mouth dropped open as Aiden reached out to trail one finger down his chest.

Greg captured his hand before it went too low and shook his head decisively. "And just where in the hell did that come from?" His eyes narrowed as Aiden shot a look across the street, where a gaggle of three young men were watching with heavy suspicion. He sighed heavily. "Oh, I get it. You recognised me as a copper and told your friends there and they sent you over to find out if I was undercover, hoping to catch a bunch of degenerate gay boys out doing nasty things to each other in the alleys. Well I'm not, all right? I'm here to go to the club and shake my arse a bit and go home with my whatever-he-is, and maybe we'll even suck each other off in the alley on the way there, because yeah, I may be a copper, but I also happen to be a gay _man_ and that is why I am out in the middle of the bloody gay _district_ , and is that all right with you, or am I not allowed to go out and have a good time on a Saturday night because of my fucking job?"

Aiden gaped stupidly before pulling himself back together abruptly. "Fuck." He glared at his friends and made little shooing motions with his hands until they scattered. "Fuck, you're right. I'm sorry. Again. Fuck."

Greg sighed again, slumping against the building as he gestured vaguely. "Ah, I don't blame you, not really. It's not like there's any love lost between the two tribes or anything. In days past, you might have had reason to be suspicious."

"No, but it takes tolerance on both sides to make it happen. So, yeah, I'm sorry. I guess you're just lucky that you happen to be mixed breed!" Greg snorted out laughter and had to support himself against the wall as he giggled breathlessly. Aiden simply watched, his eyes sparkling. "So just why are you out here, looking all mysterious n'shit?"

Greg straightened as a young couple passed them by, toned arms wrapped around slender waists, hands tucked in the back pockets of their partner's jeans, cupping muscular arses. The man on the right winked at Greg as they passed, and he grinned brightly in response. This seemed to temporarily stun the man on the left, as his feet collided with each other until his partner pulled him upright again. They both laughed as they tossed looks over their shoulders, and Greg wiggled his fingers at them.

He turned back to Aiden to catch him shaking his head in bemusement. "Care to ask me another silly question, m'lad?"

"You're flirting en masse."

Greg spread his arms with a little chuckle. "I am appreciating, that's all. I'm taking in the parading, the pageantry, the struts and the mini fashion shows." Greg pursed his lips as a drag queen in full regalia hurried past, obviously late for something. He tilted his head as her heavily sequined bottom flashed by. "So much appreciation in my heart, mate. Gotta let it out sometimes, else I'd burst."

It was Aiden's turn to support himself against the brickwork as he laughed. "And I guess getting all that appreciation back doesn't hurt either - eh, Detective Sergeant?"

Greg frowned. "I have no idea what you're talking about. And call me Greg, for God's sake."

The boy gestured wildly before throwing his arm around Greg's shoulders. He had to stand on tip-toe to do it, and Greg found himself suddenly hunched over awkwardly as Aiden put his weight back on his feet. "Jesus Christ, you're fucking blind." He nodded off to their right, to where the entwined couple had disappeared into the darkness. "Those two would've done any damn thing you wanted them to. _Anything_ , God." He tilted his head to the left. "That one was eyeballing your arse like she desperately needed a late-night snack. Look around you, Greg. Open those lovely brown eyes and see the way that every single fucking man on this street is looking at you right now."

 _"Um."_ Greg blinked and shifted his perspective slightly. Instead of taking note of bodies, outfits, attitudes, he focused solely on faces and eyes, and found himself doing a double-take. Sure, some of those eyes looked at and then looked away, but more than a few lingered, and quite a few more were obviously appreciating as well. Some were interested, their gazes flickering over his face and body as if trying to read him, and others were blatantly hungry, raking over his form as if trying to determine which was the easiest limb for them sink their teeth into.

Aiden gave him a little squeeze. "See what I mean?"

Greg swallowed uneasily. "I suddenly feel like a hefty medium-rare steak, lad. Not sure I like it."

The boy giggled before dropping his voice. "I could take you somewhere out of the public eye, give you a proper apology for being an arse earlier... No games, no tricks. Genuine offer, I swear."

Greg grinned as he shook his head. "Not that you aren't cute as a button and beguiling as hell, but someone's waiting on me."

Aiden pouted slightly, but then smiled to show that he wasn't offended. "Oh, you're one of those..." Greg tilted his head in confusion. "Loyal. That's - sweet, actually. You're sweet." He sighed melodramatically. "Why are all the good ones taken?"

Greg rolled his eyes as he held out his arm. "C'mon. You can buy me a pint to make up for all your imagined slights. How's that?" Aiden nodded and tucked his hand into the crook of his elbow, and they meandered down the pavement together. Greg kept watching men's faces, and continued to be surprised by the openly desirous looks he was getting, and the distinctly jealous looks that the lad on his arm was receiving. Aiden shrugged ruefully as Greg held the door open for him, and led the way into the club.  
   
It was the usual Saturday night crowd, and Greg clapped his hands onto Aiden's shoulders to prevent the boy from being swept away by the crush of bodies on all sides. He used his grip as leverage to bounce up on his toes, ignoring the smaller man's amused glance as he tilted his chin and caught Geoff's attention from behind the bar. The burly Scotsman grinned easily, nodding as Greg held up two fingers, and started pulling pints. He steered Aiden toward the end of the bar, near the pass-through, and smirked as Geoff neatly chased off the couple that was sitting nearby as he plonked down the frosty glasses full of amber liquid.  
   
"Shove aff. Yuir in their seats."   
   
The men rolled their eyes, but they were both longstanding patrons of the bar, and knew Geoff fairly well, so they conceded with little drama. Greg was sure he had seen them on one or two of his numerous visits, and gave them friendly nods as they headed toward the dance floor. One bit his bottom lip and graced them both with a cheeky wink as his partner tugged at him impatiently. Greg shook his head in disbelief as Aiden giggled at him. Geoff tilted his head with a question in his eyes, but Greg could only continue to shake his head slightly. After a moment, he leant across the bar and grabbed both sides of the barman's shiny head and planted a kiss right on top. Geoff sputtered.  
   
"This round's on the kid." Geoff blinked and huffed some more as he took Aiden's proffered notes with a bright red face. Greg sat himself down on the bar stool and turned to knock glasses with his drinking partner. "Cheers, mate." They settled into a comfortable silence together, steadily downing their lager and taking in the sights. When they had both packed away at least three-quarters, Greg noticed a man standing on his own near the entrance to the back hallway. He watched him out of the corner of his eye as he cast furtive glances toward them. No, not at them - at Aiden. He grinned suddenly as he realised that the stranger was clearly interested in the lad, and that Aiden was most certainly oblivious to it. Greg knocked back the rest of his pint as he scanned the crowd, easily catching sight of a very familiar pair of broad shoulders. Hard not to, since Edward stood a couple of inches or more taller than nearly any other man in the room...  
   
Greg slid off his stool, and Aiden looked up at him with a bit of regret in his eyes. Greg felt a bit of pride as he realised that the boy had apparently enjoyed the interaction, just meeting up and chatting with someone pleasant, even if it hadn't led to any illicit activities. Greg grinned and snugged up against his back, turning him on the stool as he wrapped one arm around his waist. Putting his mouth to his ear, he directed Aiden's attention to the solitary man who was now steadfastly looking in the opposite direction. "If you're looking to ditch your arsehole mates for the evening, that one there has barely been able to keep his eyes off you. Maybe you should go introduce yourself, eh lad?"  
   
_"Mm."_ Aiden wriggled against him gently. "And what about you?"  
   
"Oh, I've spotted my quarry, mate. I'm gonna brave the battlefield."  
   
Aiden giggled as he worked himself loose from Greg's grip and hopped off the stool. He bit his lip as he turned, and seemed to come to some decision as he stepped closer and threw his arms around him. "It's been nice. Sorry that I was a jerk."  
   
"That's all right, lad. Learning curve and all that." Greg patted the top of his head awkwardly. "Just don't let me catch you getting nicked again, yeah?"  
   
Aiden snorted and shook his head decisively as he pulled away. Greg stood and watched as he approached the interested stranger with absolutely no hint of self-consciousness, boldly reaching out to trail a finger along the collar of his t-shirt. He grinned as the man glanced up at him in surprise and then dove into the crowd on the dance floor, slipping through and around sweaty, writhing bodies with ease until he came up against the solid body of his whatever-he-was. Edward turned with an easy grin as Greg reached out to pinch his bum, and there was a brief look of surprise in his eyes, almost like he was expecting somebody else, but that was all too easy to ignore as he wrapped his strong arms around his torso and buried his nose in his throat.  
   
Greg groaned as he lifted his arms to link around Edward's neck, and damn if the man didn't simply tighten his grip and haul him right off his feet as he straightened, breathing him in deeply. "Christ, E..."  
   
"Mm. _God_. Have I ever told you how wonderful you smell, darling?"  
   
Greg laughed as he swung his feet slightly. "You've mentioned it on one or two occasions, yes. Now put me down, you monster."

"I'm gonna go with nope on that one, my dear Detective Sergeant. If I keep you in my arms, then you can't run away, can you?"

"Um. Well, yeah. I would say that could be a very effective abduction technique." Greg turned his head, biting down hard on Edward's earlobe. "However, what makes you think I would ever want to escape from you?" He squirmed as Edward gently set him back on his feet, leaning up to lick around the curl of his ear. "My darling giant."

"Fee fi fo fum..." Edward cradled Greg's face in both of his hands and brought their foreheads together. "Because one of these days I just may eat you all up."

Greg blinked against his warm breath, shuddering under his touch. "Oh. I am _so_ looking forward to it." Edward smiled, slow and dirty, before finally tilting Greg's face up to his for a solid snog. All thought and sense seemed to dribble right out of Greg's ears as he melted into his lover, letting him manipulate his body as he wished, allowing himself to be pushed and pulled in any direction, just so long as E was the one guiding him, with those freakishly large, oh-so-wondrous hands. When Edward finally let him up for air, he could only stare up at him, utterly dazed. _"Fuck."_

Edward's grin grew exponentially. "Right here? Darling, I am shocked. Shocked, I tell you."

Greg shook himself and grinned back before slipping a knee in between Edward's thighs and grinding up against him hard. Edward hummed low and countered with a firm bulge of his own being applied to the hollow of Greg's hip. "I'm game if you are, lover."

Edward threw his head back with laughter, and it took every ounce of self-control in Greg's body not to _a)_ toss him down right there on the dirty, nasty dance floor, or _b)_ climb him like a fucking tree and just rub off wherever he happened to end up.

Instead, he swallowed hard as Edward took his hands in the now all-too-familiar ballroom stance, and with just enough space between them to calm both of their erections, began to twirl and spin them around the other dancers. Greg once again let his brain go offline and just followed wherever Edward happened to lead him. He quickly lost all sense of time and space, being utterly unaware of how long they had been dancing, hell, he was barely even aware of what fucking day it was anymore. Greg was only aware that the lovely, tall, hard body that had been holding him close was now pushing him away, even if it was gently. Greg fisted both hands into Edward's shirt and pulled him down into a breathless kiss.

"Take me home, E. I want you to do filthy things to me."

Edward laughed low and dark, the vibrations of his mirth travelling through Greg's body, making him shiver. "Of course, darling. I just need a few minutes to chat with my mates, all right?"

No, it was not bloody well 'all right'. Greg tossed a light scowl in the direction that Edward was nodding toward, but then shook himself slightly. It wasn't fair of him to resent them for taking up any of E's time, they were his friends, after all. They seemed to be nice enough blokes on their own, but for some reason, when they were out and about in a pack like they were tonight, Greg didn't trust any of them. Not even Edward. Maybe even especially not Edward. He sighed glumly and nodded as E gave him a little pat on the bum.

"Maybe have another pint while you're waiting? Tell Geoff it's on me."

Greg was certainly not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially when said horse was offering free lager, so he nodded and set off over a considerably less well-packed dance floor. He glanced at his watch on his way over to the bar and was surprised to note that it had gone past one in the morning. Bloody _hell_. Geoff grinned when he saw him heading in his direction and started pulling another pint for him.

"It's on Edward this time, mate."

"Swatch at ye, mucker - free drinks aw aroond." He tilted his head as he watched Greg suck down nearly half in one go. "Ah was gonnae pit it oan his tab anyhaw. Selfish tit's kept ye it thaur fur hoors."

Greg chuckled as he looked the Scotsman over. "Aw, you jealous? Miss me, mate?"

Geoff scoffed. "Ach. Ah suppose yoo're aw reit tay chat wi'. An' nae tay stoaner oan th' eyes." He winked as he turned back to his patrons, easily cutting one or two off as it was obvious that they'd already had quite enough. Greg watched with interest as one man protested quite vociferously; the barman rolled his eyes as he ducked under the pass-through and tweaked the wanker's ear hard as he hauled him through the club and out the door. Geoff then went to berate the bouncer, who had allowed himself to get distracted by a slight pale-haired boy who was almost preternaturally pretty.

He knocked back the rest of his pint as the Scotsman returned. "Is this your place, mate? Dunno why I never asked before."

"Aye an' nae, lad. Me an' a body other - he holds th' majority shaur, but Ah dae most ay th' wark, ay coorse." Geoff braced his arms against the bar for a moment, and Greg found himself admiring the solidity of his shoulders, sloping down to a fine, strong back and tapering away to a waist that wasn't exactly narrow, but was still tucked in rather nicely due to the kilt. His bum was mostly just an amorphous shape underneath the loose fabric, and Greg's fingers twitched to just grab and lift so he could get a proper look. He clenched his fists instead, and followed Geoff's gaze around the ceiling and walls of his club. "Ah'd loch tae spruce 'er up a bit, but Scott's th' body wi' th' funds an' aw. An' if Ah lit heem loose, he'd jist turn it intae a straecht S&M place." He grinned at Greg's little snort. "Nae 'at there's anythin' wrang wi' 'at..."

"No, not at all." Greg shook his head with a little snort. Of course that's what Scott would want. "I wouldn't think a specialty place like that would be very profitable, though. And there's already one or two on this very street, in't there?"

"Tha's whit Ah keep sayin'!"

"You should do theme nights instead, yeah?" Geoff turned to face him, his eyes going thoughtful. "Disco, Eighties, fuck, you could do a country night for the sheer ridiculousness of it. You could even have a bondage or leather night - make Scott a happy little pervert."

Geoff tapped one finger over his mouth. "Tha's nae a bad idea, mucker."

Greg squirmed a little in his seat as the Scotsman mulled it over, suddenly realising that the pint he had slammed down earlier had gone straight to his bladder. He looked around briefly, but the crowd was still heavy enough that he didn't immediately spot either Edward, or his little entourage. He clapped a hand on Geoff's solid shoulder as he hopped off his stool, intending to make a brief pit stop before searching out his whatever-he-was. "Well, mate, you just let me know if you decide on it, and we can work out the royalty details later on, yeah?"

The barman snorted and reached out to give Greg's arm a little squeeze as he passed him by. "Coont oan it, mucker."

Greg kept a weather eye open for Edward as he traversed the length of the club, heading for the toilets. He went straight for the first of the urinals and bit his lip to keep his groan of satisfaction to himself as he unloaded. Shit. He winced slightly as his bladder twinged. Not healthy to wait that long, you idiot. Greg sighed and raised his eyes to the ceiling, only just becoming aware of a quiet shuffling and mumbling coming from the last stall. He grinned and fought back a sharp bark of laughter as the unmistakable sounds of someone giving head came drifting over the open top of the cubicle. He cursed slightly as his prick jumped in his hand and took a half-step back to avoid splashing on his boots as he shook off. The heady wet noises of tongue on cock increased as he went to wash his hands, and he found himself smirking at his reflection in the grimy mirror. Hell, maybe he should just stick around and listen to the free concert, yeah?

"Ohhh... Oh, _fuck_."

Greg's entire body suddenly went cold and he gripped the edge of the sink hard, his knuckles turning white under the strain. Before his brain really registered what was happening, his body was propelling him toward that stall, the one with the fucked-up lock, what the fuck was he thinking using that stall, the goddamn idiot, and he flung the door open wide. He knew what he was going to see, of _course_ he did, but still, the sight of Edward thrusting gently into the mouth of some random little punk-arse boy made Greg's head flare with white-hot rage and for a moment he seemed to be struck absolutely blind.

"Oh fuck."

A different exclamation now, and Greg almost wanted to laugh, but he couldn't, because then there was the sound of Edward's cock being withdrawn from that whore's mouth, that little pop because of course the tart didn't want to let him go, no, why would he, so yes, that stupid little noise that Greg loved to hear in different circumstances once again sent his blood cold and oh fuck he really wanted to pop something else, like maybe Edward's face, but of course he was better than that, wasn't he? Edward turned and gently put a hand to Greg's chest and pushed him until he was pressed up against the wall, his face full of concern and worry, but not shame, no, no apologies in his eyes whatsoever and Greg could only lean his head back and tip his eyes up to the ceiling and fight back the tears that were threatening to fall. But then Edward made the mistake of trailing that hand down his body, and Greg suddenly snarled, knocking his arm away and giving him a solid shove.

"Don't you _fucking_ TOUCH me!" Greg put as much scorn and derision in his voice as in his gaze, trailing his eyes over his lover with utter contempt. Edward's exposed prick at least had the decency to wilt a bit as Greg's eyes narrowed, and he snarled again. "You don't _get_ to touch me." Edward's face twisted slightly, and there was the shame, finally. But too little, and definitely too late.

"This is why I usually cruise the straight bars instead. Fucking queers and their fucking _drama_."

Greg turned in astonishment as the boy sitting on the toilet rolled his eyes. He took one step, putting his hands on his hips as he spread his stance, and then he was filling the door to the stall, blocking it completely. The tart blanched and pulled away slightly. "You want drama, you little fucker?" Greg fumbled for his wallet, for his arrest warrant.

"Greg, no."

Edward shrank away at the look that Greg threw over his shoulder. "You don't _touch_ me, and you don't _speak_ to me. Not now." He thrust the card in the boy's face, nodding with satisfaction as he paled a bit further. "Indecent acts in public. How's that for drama? Think Mummy and Daddy will appreciate having to come rescue your arse from the nick? Hmm?"

The boy shook his head as he tried to recover his previous sass. "You can't bring me in. I'll tell them. I'll tell _everyone_ that you're a fucking fag and you were here with your stupid boyfriend and the only reason you arrested me was because you were jealous that he wanted my mouth more than yours. What'll they say to that when you show up with me and not with him?"

"Jesus, you're stupid. You really should shut up now..."

Greg tossed Edward another look, but since his remarks weren't aimed at him, there wasn't as much steel in his gaze. He turned back to the boy, and once again, he shrank away, nearly hitting his head on the tiled wall behind the toilet. " _Look_ at me, lad. Look at my face right now and tell me that I wouldn't be dragging _both_ of your arses in. Tell me that I give one shite about what you would say, or what my mates down at the Yard would think of me because of any crap that would come out of your mouth. Not just a copper, you little tart. I'm a Detective Sergeant. And you're nothing but a _whore_. I could tell them any story I'd like. Who do you think they'd believe?"

The boy's mouth flopped open as he considered. "That's not fair!"

Edward snorted from behind him and Greg scowled, his eyebrows turning in fiercely. Then he sighed, all of his tension suddenly falling away from his shoulders, leaving him almost too weak to stand. Edward noticed and reached out to him, but Greg pulled away so abruptly that he almost fell into the boy's lap. "Apparently, life in't fair, lad. Get the fuck out, and stay the fuck away. You _get_ me?" He nodded tremulously and stood, inching his way around Greg's motionless form until he was free. He didn't look back as he bolted out of the toilets and most likely, out of the club entirely.

"Greg. Darling..."

"No, Edward. Just... No." Greg plunged his hand into the pocket containing his keys and pulled out the keyring that Edward had given him a few weeks back. He hadn't yet attached it to his own bundle, out of some superstition perhaps. After all, they hadn't ever come to any consensus on what they even were to each other. Maybe that was a mistake, but considering how this evening had turned out, perhaps it was all for the best. Apparently, they weren't anything - just a convenient shag. Greg refused to look at Edward as he dropped the key to his flat on the edge of the sink. "I'll come for my crap sometime later. Be there or not, I don't care."

Edward reached out for him, flinching away as Greg shrugged him off. "Please. Greg, I'm sorry."

Greg closed his eyes and breathed out a soft sigh, finally meeting Edward's watery gaze in the mirror above the sink. "No, darling. You're only sorry that you got caught."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geoff comforts Greg with a wee dram of scotch, and then quite a bit of Scotsman...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was hoping to have a bit more for you all, but the weather in my neck of the woods has been stupidly warm, and it's made me feel rather stupid and sluggish in return. But I kind of like what I'm setting up here, and I'd like to know what my lovelies think of it as well!
> 
> Please comment - help shake me out of my heat-induced stupidity!
> 
> *mwah*
> 
> (Translations for Geoff's dialogue available [here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3859345/chapters/8618890))

Greg paused just outside of the toilets, bracing himself against the doorjamb as he gathered his trembling legs underneath him. He stuck close to the wall as he made his way back over to the bar, and as soon as Geoff caught sight of him, something in his normally cheerful face fell. It wasn't at all difficult for the barman to figure out what had happened, as just a few moments before, that little twink had come rushing out of the bathroom like his arse was on fire and had just kept on hustling until he had quit the club completely. And then Edward had emerged a couple of minutes after Greg had, avoiding Geoff's steely glare as he slunk away in the same direction as his obvious partner in crime, his usual swagger reduced to a hunched, shameful posture.

Geoff didn't say a word as Greg settled down on his customary stool; he just put a shot glass full of something clear in front of him and watched as he slammed it down.

Greg shuddered, his face twisting into a grimace as the alcohol burned its' way down his gullet and splashed into his belly like a nuclear bomb. " _Ergh_. The fuck was that?"

"Jist a wee summat tae gie ye it ay yer heed, mucker." He ducked under the bartop for a long moment, finally emerging with a dusty bottle. Geoff poured out two fingers' worth and set the glass down in front of Greg firmly. "Private stock, laddie. Tak' yer time wi' thes oan, aye?"

Greg nodded glumly and sipped at the scotch delicately, breathing a small sigh of relief as the rich, peaty warmth spread through his veins, chasing away the cold lump in his chest. "Shame to waste this ambrosia on the likes of my worthless arse, mate."

Geoff fixed him with a beady stare. "Ah will knock some sense intae 'at thick heed ay yoors if ye keep talkin' 'at way. It's naethin' tae div wi' ye, mucker. He's naught but a greedy wee laddie. Always hae been. Always grasping for a braw new bauble, completely blin' tae th' prize he's awreedy clutchin' in his grottie wee fist."

The barman reached over to rest his fingertips lightly on Greg's wrist, and something about that contact, somebody touching him for no reason other than just to touch, well, that nearly sent him spiralling downward once again. He blinked back tears as he twisted his arm and clutched back, squeezing firmly. Geoff's eyes bored into his, and though there was a bit of sympathy in the warm depths, there was no overt sign of pity. Just understanding, and an unspoken offer of support.

Greg nodded and forced a smile onto his face. "Know what I need, mate?"

"Wot's 'at, mucker?"

"To get laid." Geoff tilted his head to the side as his eyes took on a oh-so-tiny but oh-so-wicked gleam. "No expectations, no obligations. Just two blokes enjoying each other's company in every conceivable manner. Whaddya say?"

A rosy blush settled over the Scotsman's face as he processed the proposition. Greg felt his strained smile relax into something a little more natural as he watched a subtle change come over his friend's manner, something in his features shifting into a coy, almost submissive demeanour. "Didnae 'hink Ah was yer type, Greggy."

 _"Pfft."_ Greg's grin sharpened slightly, and he suddenly felt much more himself, for some reason. He rolled his head on his shoulders and felt some of the tension just drift away. "You got lady bits under that fancy skirt of yours?"

Geoff chuckled as he ducked his head and looked at Greg from under his lashes. "Most definitely nae."

Greg winked as he raised his glass to his lips and took another sip of scotch. "Well, then...you're my type."

"Aye." Geoff moved his fingertips in slow, steady circles on Greg's forearm, making his skin ripple with gooseflesh under his touch. "Closin' up suin. Ye gonnae stick aroond?"

"Absolutely." Greg lifted Geoff's hand to his mouth and brushed his lips over his knuckles. "Couldn't tear me away." His eyebrows rose slightly as the burly Scotsman bloody well _giggled_ at him, his brown eyes sparkling as a furious blush bloomed on his round cheeks. Geoff glanced down at the glass that Greg was clutching in his free hand and bit his lip. After a moment, he took it back and poured out one more generous splash from his dusty bottle. He tucked the bottle away and placed the glass back down in front of Greg.

Geoff nodded down at it, suddenly all businesslike. "Yoo'll be gettin' nae mair fur lae ay th' nicht, sae make it lest, mucker." He glanced at his watch and tutted impatiently. "We'll start clearin' folks it in a half-hoor ur sae, an' 'en Andy usually helps me clean up a bit." He tilted his head toward the bouncer, who had once again gravitated toward the stupidly-pretty blond boy. Geoff tutted again as he shook his head. "An hoor an' a half at th' earliest, Greggy."

Greg took another sip, tilting his head back and closing his eyes in bliss as the scotch warmed every part of his body. He opened his eyes slowly to find Geoff eyeing his neck as if he wanted to lick it. He chuckled low. "Oh, I can wait."

With that, he shifted slightly on his stool, ostensibly to watch the dying action out on the dance floor, but in reality, making sure Geoff got back to work with fewer distractions. Not that he wasn't almost painfully aware of the burly Scotsman stealing glances at him every few minutes... Greg grinned to himself and nursed his drink, not allowing himself to think on what had happened earlier, or what may happen later. No, now was what was important, and right now, his body was thrumming with anticipation, a small fire burning deep in his gut that flared up every time he felt Geoff's warm brown eyes settle on him. Once or twice Greg caught him staring, and the bright blush that would suddenly erupt on Geoff's face and all the way up and over his shiny pate nearly made him double over with laughter.

He put his empty glass down on the bar and watched as Andy started to gently usher people toward the exit, and his excitement jumped several degrees. Greg shook himself. Closer, yeah, but there was still plenty of work to be done before play could even begin. More out of a need to calm his body than out of any sense of altruism, he took one of the trays that Geoff had stacked up on the end of the bar and started to wander through the club. He followed after the men that were vacating, some bleary-eyed and alone, but most partnered up with someone who may or may not stick around until morning.

Greg noticed Andy quirking an eyebrow at him as he collected various dirty glasses and bits of trash, hauling it all back to the bar only to grab an empty tray and head back out. He stopped at a relatively secluded table in a corner, blinking down at an obviously used condom that had been discarded on the floor. _'God, men are fucking filthy creatures.'_ He shook his head and stepped around it carefully. _'Considerate of the dirty beast to tie it off, at least.'_

Andy came by with a large push-broom as Greg was clearing away the table, stopping and blinking down in much the same manner. He glanced up, his lips twisting in mixed amusement and disgust. "Yuck."

Greg snorted. "Putting it lightly, lad." He manoeuvred his way around the broom with his burden, meandering this way and that to pick up random stray glasses that had been left behind on tables and chairs and even one or two on the floor. After passing it all on to Geoff, he sat down once again and watched as the barman stacked as much of it as he could into the industrial dishwasher and then wiped down the bartop with a practised hand.

Andy ducked out the back with a couple of bags of rubbish and came back in only to pop his head into both of the restrooms and then down the back hallway. He came back toward the front, smacking his hands together decisively. "All clear, boss, except for this one." He jabbed a thumb in Greg's direction with a crooked smile. "Want me to toss 'im out on his ear?"

Geoff rolled his eyes. "Nae, laddie. Thes oan's _mine_." He grinned as he nodded toward the entrance, where a certain blond boy was lingering impatiently. "Yoo've got yoors. Clear aff, an' dornt forgit tae lock up behin' yerself."

Andy didn't need to be told twice, and while he didn't actually run, his stride as he headed for the exit wasn't exactly calm or sedate, either. Greg and Geoff laughed good-naturedly as the young couple dashed out the door together, and then everything was suddenly hushed and still between the two men. Geoff cleared his throat and darted a searing look at Greg as he folded the rag he had been using to clean with, setting it down with deliberation, a clear sign that he was done working for the night.

Greg turned slowly on his stool and spread his thighs invitingly as the Scotsman came around the bar, neatly insinuating himself into the space that had been opened for him. He blushed again, running his palms up Greg's legs, gripping his waist eagerly as he was brought in for a kiss, both hands cupping Geoff's face tenderly. Maybe it was just the tension that both of them had been holding in for the past hour or so, but as far as first kisses went, it was pretty fucking spectacular. Gentle, yes - tentative, but full of fire, their casual flirting over the past few months finally coming to a head as they acknowledged the nearly overwhelming attraction that both of them were feeling in the moment.

To Greg's surprise, he found Geoff's mouth to be completely malleable under his. The burly barman whimpered quietly as his generous bottom lip was nipped at lightly, eagerly opening himself under Greg's insistent probing. Geoff's arms slipped around Greg's middle as he pushed into him, but he didn't tighten his grip or pull him in closer. He simply melted into Greg, allowing him to take the lead, telling him without speaking that he would happily go in any direction that he wished.

Greg found his spine lengthening, his shoulders pulling back subtly, so that he sat a full head taller than Geoff, even though the barman was in actuality only an inch or two shorter than he was. Geoff blinked dazedly when Greg pulled away, looking up at him in wonder. Greg grinned as he let his eyes dance over his face, his fingers tracing along the shell of his ear and then over the top of his bald head. He felt the need to confirm the apparent dynamic of the upcoming encounter, and struggled to find a way to voice it without being too obvious and simply spoiling the mood.

After all, in all of the times that he had been with Edward, he had been in the same headspace that Geoff seemed to be in now. Not exactly hesitant, more like - subdued. Waiting, just waiting for that moment when his partner would give in, when the other man would take control and start taking action. Greg felt something else shift in his head as he looked down into that totally open, expectant face. There was no artifice there, no hint of play-acting or taking on an unfamiliar role. Geoff wasn't behaving a certain way purely for Greg's benefit, or attempting some weak form of sexual-based psychological therapy. No, this was how he wanted Greg, how he needed him. Greg almost laughed at himself as Geoff smiled shyly up at him, still waiting patiently, and he felt a heady rush of power crackle up his spine. Of course, that delightful sensation could very well have had something to do with the way Geoff's hands were drifting along the bare skin of the small of his back, having wormed their clever way under his shirt some time ago.

Greg pressed another kiss to the barman's lips, growling faintly as he whimpered quietly in return. He plundered his mouth, relishing in every quiver of tongue and fingers and solid body against his as his mind raced over the possibilities. Something to acknowledge, to cement, yes, something dominant, filthy, but not dismissive, not cruel. Greg was itching to take the lead, had been for some time, but he knew himself better than to think that he could allow this could be anything but a mutually pleasurable experience. He was picking up on the feeling that Geoff would happily let himself be used in whatever manner his partner for the night needed, but Greg most definitely did not feel the need for just some random dirty encounter. It was irrational and silly, he knew it was, but Greg needed to somehow prove to himself that he was a more considerate lover - hell, maybe even a better man, than those he had been exposed to so far.

As he pulled away a second time, he ran both hands over Geoff's shiny head to the back of his neck, clasping him firmly and grinning down crookedly. "Oh, my _lovely_ Jock... I've nothing to grab onto - whatever am I to do when I'm fucking your face later?"

 _"Ach."_ Geoff groaned quietly as he buried his face in Greg's throat. He took the opportunity to rub their groins together gently, pleased to note that they were both already rock-hard. "Ah'm sure yoo'll figure something' it, mucker."

" _Mm_. Such faith, and so soon..."

Greg's heart tripped in his chest as Geoff looked up at him, his warm brown eyes blown wide, nearly all pupil. "Yoo'll dae reit by me, Greggy. Ah've nae doobt abit 'at."

Greg blinked and nodded, resolving to make that as true a statement as he possibly could. He pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of Geoff's jaw as he ran his hands up his arms to his shoulders, pushing at him gently. Geoff sighed and unwound his arms from Greg's torso, stepping back to allow him to hop off his stool.

"As tempting as it is to get you on your knees right here, perhaps one of your little dens of iniquity might be a bit more comfortable? I do know that they're better equipped with certain things that we may need..."

Geoff shivered where he stood, and bit his lip before leaning over the bar, fumbling for something on the other side. Greg watched for a breathless few seconds as the barman went up on his tip-toes, mumbling quiet curses as he groped blindly. The tartan of his kilt twitched as his strong calves flexed and there was just the tiniest flash of oh-so-muscular thighs before Greg simply couldn't stand it anymore. He crouched slightly, just to get his hands where he needed them, underneath that damned kilt, palms flat on solid muscle. Geoff jumped and cursed again, but groaned quietly as Greg moved slowly but inexorably upward, delighting in the feel of generous amounts of coarse hair tickling along his palms, until both hands were firmly clamped on even firmer arse-cheeks.

Greg chuckled low as he squeezed hard, and Geoff whimpered again. "Oh, that _is_ promising. No pants. Dunno why I expected anything different."

"Ah huvnae lived in Englain quite _'at_ lang, laddie. Ah still enjoy a little breeze oan mah bits frae time tae time."

"Oh, yeah?" Geoff gasped as Greg pushed in closer, running his hands around and down, clutching hard to his upper thighs. He pulled him in tight, neatly slotting his clothed erection in between Geoff's arse-cheeks and grinding firmly. The Scotsman gasped and pushed back, his head nearly dropping onto the bar as his body shuddered. "Well, you'll find that's something we have in common..."

"Ach, Christ. Yoo're gonnae _kill_ me, ye gantin' beestie. Jist..." He groped blindly once again, finally pulling a solitary key out from behind the bar. Geoff pushed against Greg urgently. "Coom oan, afair ye make me make a mess ay myself." Greg laughed again as he stepped back only to have Geoff grab his hand in a fierce grip and start to haul him down that infamous back hallway, all the way to the very end, where he fumbled with the lock impatiently.

"Don't think I've ever been in this one before."

"Nae, lad. Thes oan is special - has tae be reserved in advance, usually."

Greg gasped slightly as the door was flung wide and Geoff fumbled for the lights. Special indeed - it was surprisingly large, for one thing. It was also the only room that he had seen in this place that sported an actual bed - a big one, rather than just some dingy old sofa. The walls were painted in a subtle blue-grey, and the lights seemed to be variable, as Geoff fiddled with a dial and turned them down to about half-strength. The floor was the standard plain sealed concrete that was in the other rooms, but Greg could hardly fault them for not installing carpeting. He was sure that they were as clean as they could be, but these rooms were really only for one purpose, and that was generally a pretty filthy one. He snorted, suddenly imagining Forensics coming in here with their sprays and their silly little lights. Damn, the entire room would most certainly fluoresce and light up as if a bomb made exclusively out of genetic material had gone off in here.

He giggled quietly in his head as he watched Geoff bustle about, popping through another door only to flip another light switch. He gestured grandly. "Lavvy." Greg followed, sticking his head in and looking around in surprise. The bathroom was fully-equipped, to the extent that it even had a walk-in shower, one definitely large enough for two. He steadfastly ignored the attachments that were hanging up next to the hand-held shower nozzle, pretty damn sure that at least one of them was an anal douche. Although... Hm - maybe... Greg bit his lip as he considered. Yes, the evening was certainly looking up...

He wandered back out into the main room, watching with interest as Geoff threw a clean sheet over the frankly enormous bed and tucked the edges under the mattress. He blushed slightly. "Naebody hud it signed it tonicht, but it doesnae hurt tae make sure, aye?" Greg shook his head with an amused smile on his lips, turning as he noticed another darkened doorway off to his left. Greg left the barman to his housekeeping and ducked his head in, searching futilely for a light switch. He felt the warmth of Geoff's body before he heard his tongue click with a quiet _'tch'_ , and then light flooded the smallish walk-in closet.

It was lined with shelves and hooks, full to the brim with toys of every make and model, and other, well - implements. Geoff swallowed uneasily as Greg's head tilted, his dark eyes fixed on the various floggers, canes and whips. "Mostly Scott's, ay coorse. Thes is th' only room wi' th' space tae stair them aw." He jerked his head in the direction of the opposite wall, where a curtain the same colour of the paint was hanging, floor to ceiling. "He has some ay th' larger equipment in haur tay." Geoff cleared his throat as he fidgeted slightly, Greg having turned his rather intense gaze back on him. " _Um_. Nae pure mah scene, but if'n ye want..."

Greg's mouth turned up at one corner and there was a terrible flash of hunger that rippled over his face, but he did not hesitate to turn the light in the small closet off, and he shut the door with a bit of force. The slam of the door made Geoff jump just a bit, but he also heaved an internal sigh of relief. He knew that Greg was making it quite clear that the closet would not be opened up again while it was the two of them in this room.

"Only what we're both comfortable with, yeah?" These were the first words that Greg had spoken since they walked into the room, and his voice had deepened, roughened. Geoff shivered as the heavy gravel of it slithered down his spine. Greg pulled him in close, tipping his head back so he could nose around his jawline and down his throat, nipping at his Adam's apple. "I want it to be easy, to be _fun_. Just two rather handsome blokes making each other happy. Right?"

The burly barman huffed out a quiet laugh. "Ach, _aye_ , mucker. Ah dae want tae make ye canty..."

Greg pulled away from where he had been gently worrying at Geoff's collarbone with his teeth. He stroked one cheek with the back of his hand. "And to be made happy too, right?"

"Ah cannae imagine it bein' onie other way, Greggy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Geoff let off a little steam...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The evening - er - early morning is not over yet for these two lovely blokes, but at least it's getting off to a good start!
> 
> Or at least, I think so... But then, I often have an overinflated sense of my writing prowess, so there you go!
> 
> Please let me know how I'm doing! Comments feed my muse, wild woman that she is...
> 
> Love you all - kissy kissy my darlings.
> 
> (Translations for Geoff's dialogue available [here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3859345/chapters/8618932))

Geoff looked up at him with such trust that Greg found that his breath caught in his throat. He brought him in for a tender kiss, and then hesitated. As wonderful as it would be to simply go for it, something in Greg's brain was niggling at him, and it was clear that he wouldn't be able to let go properly unless it was addressed. Geoff hummed low and dropped his forehead into Greg's chest as the back of his neck was rubbed steadily.

"Lie down for a minute, mate. These enormous shoulders of yours seem a bit tight..." Geoff chuckled quietly, but obediently turned toward the bed and crawled into it, taking just a bit more time to situate himself than was strictly necessary. Greg bit his lip as the Scotsman glanced over one shoulder and gave his arse a little wiggle. On his hands and knees, the kilt just barely covered him, and Greg once more found himself fighting the urge to just grab and lift. Instead of giving in, he crossed his arms over his chest and quirked one dark eyebrow. "Tart."

"Yoo're jusnoo figurin' 'at it?" Geoff laughed at himself as he settled down on his belly, groaning with appreciation as Greg immediately straddled his waist and firmly ran his hands up his broad back. "Jesus, Greggy. 'At's braw, 'at is. Feckin' barry." He groaned again as Greg dug his fingers into his stiff muscles hard.

Greg grinned, even though he knew Geoff couldn't see it. "Thought it might help me relax a bit."

"Help ye? If that's th' case, 'en shooldnae Ah be th' body oan top?" The burly barman sighed deeply as Greg went up on his knees, using his own body weight as leverage as he rolled his palms down either side of Geoff's spine.

"Dunno why, but this is just as relaxing for me as it is for the poor bastard that I'm beating on... Always has been. And - well. You work hard, mate. You deserve a little care and attention."

Greg grinned again as he felt something in the solid body underneath his give way, as Geoff melted into the mattress. "Ach, mucker. Nae need tae butter me up, ye ken. Ah'm awreddy yoors fur th' nicht. Whitever ye want, whitever ye need."

 _"Hm."_ Greg delicately plucked Geoff's shirt out of the waistband of his kilt, running his fingers over the smooth flesh of his lower back. Geoff shivered deliciously as gooseflesh rippled up his spine and he moaned, writhing underneath him. "That's another thing, actually. I've never - I mean..."

Geoff abruptly came up on his elbows, nearly knocking Greg off his perch. He cast a knowing glance behind him and took in a deep breath. "Yoo've only ever bin wi' Edward, an' _he_ doesnae bottom. Sae yoo're woriat abit toppin' me - yoo're thinkin' 'at yoo'll dae it wrang, ur somehaw end up disappointin' me. Dornt frit abit it." Geoff chuckled lightly even as he blushed again. "Ah willnae deny 'at Ah've bin wi' a fair few, an' when yoo've bin aroond as much as Ah hae, it's easy tae gie a feel fur a bloke, fur hoo yoo're gonnae fit taegether. Thes is gonnae be a stoat nicht, Greggy. Ye jist dae whit ye feel, an' Ah tryst ye 'at if anythin' makes me uncomfortable, Ah'll pit a stop tae it."

"Mm. Bloody barmen. Always reading minds and psychoanalysing n' shit." Greg squeezed his knees tight around Geoff's middle as he ran his hands up and over his back and around his torso. He chuckled quietly and sat up, pulling Geoff's shirt up and peeking underneath. "Christ, mate. How is it that you're as smooth as a baby's bum back here, but it feels like you've some poor animal's pelt taped to your front?"

Geoff sputtered and guffawed, dropping his face back into the mattress. "Jist lucky, Ah guess?"

Greg slithered down his backside and off the bed, shoving at Geoff's arse. "Get your kit off. All of it. I need to see you."

Geoff threw him a saucy grin as he rolled to the edge of the mattress, stripping out of his shirt along the way. He flung it at a nearby chair and started unlacing his boots. Greg squirmed where he stood, his fingers absolutely itching to dig into the oh-so-gloriously thick thatch of chest hair that Geoff was sporting. In order to keep his hands to himself, at least for the time being, Greg ducked down and started to work the laces on his own boots loose before kicking them off.

Geoff stood and faced him, his hands going to the buckles on his kilt, deftly sliding them both free in quick succession. He paused, holding it in place, watching Greg's eyes as they got bigger and darker by the moment. "Aye, an' will Ah be seein' onie mair ay ye, mah braw laddie?" Greg snarled quietly, but swiftly stripped off his shirt, tossing it down on top of Geoff's.

He put his hands on his hips and nodded at the Scotsman curtly. "That's all you get for now. Stop teasing me, or I may just have to take a hand to your backside."

Geoff's eyes widened as he grinned toothily. " _Ooh_ , Greggy!" He let the tip of his delightfully pink tongue caress his bottom lip as he drew the tartan fabric aside, laying it down with a bit more care than he had shown with his t-shirt. Geoff smoothed one hand down his body as he straightened, casting his gaze downward self-consciously. "Ah ken it isnae exactly whit yoo're used tae..."

Greg took two steps and reached out to clasp Geoff's head, gently forcing him to raise his face to his. "Shush. You're perfect." He nipped at the tip of his nose before pressing their lips together hard, eagerly swallowing Geoff's moan as he tangled his fingers into his chest hair. "Fuck, _yes_. Big and brawny and furry as fuck." Greg tucked his face into Geoff's neck and inhaled deeply before licking a wet stripe from collarbone to ear. "You smell like hard work, mate. Like good, honest sweat and lovely strong scotch and - determination." Geoff gaped at him as he pulled away slightly, raking his eyes over every bare but decidedly hirsute inch. "Solid and hairy - manly. Good god _damn_ , you are utterly perfect. And tonight, you're mine. All mine."

Geoff clung to him desperately, his body trembling under Greg's touch. "Ach, mucker... Aye. Yoors." He cried out as Greg once more ran the fingers of one hand over his chest, digging into the hair hard and tugging even harder. Greg grinned wildly and ducked his head, tonguing around one nipple gently before biting down firmly, running his nails down Geoff's back at the same moment. The Scotsman threw his head back with another throaty cry, his body shuddering violently. "Greggy. Please, mucker."

"Mm. Please what?" He didn't give the barman time to answer, sealing their mouths together as he shifted slightly, releasing the glorious bounty carpeting Geoff's chest and running his hand down, down until he was cradling his bollocks, gently bouncing them in his palm. Greg hummed into Geoff's mouth as the Scotsman moaned incoherently and then moved his hand up slightly, wrapping his fingers around a very stiff and rather leaky cock. He squeezed, humming again as Geoff clutched at him, one arm around his waist and one hand in his hair. There was hot breath shuddering against his neck, and Greg found that he was swaying their bodies together without quite realising it.

The prick in his hand jumped slightly, and Greg was pleased at how well it fit. It was perhaps a bit shorter than his, and maybe just a tiny bit thinner, but that still meant it was quite a fine specimen indeed. "Oh, yes. My lovely, lovely Jock." He gave Geoff a firm stroke, from root to tip, smiling into the top of his bald head.

The barman trembled against him. "Please, Greggy. Please. Ah want tae see ye." He licked and nibbled at neck and collarbone, his voice gone coy and breathy as he slipped a knee in between Greg's thighs and ground upward subtly. "Want tae _taste_ ye. Want tae feel ye in mah gob, oan mah tongue."

Greg felt another ridiculous surge of power as he listened to the man in his arms pleading to be allowed to take him into his mouth, and he grinned foolishly for just a moment. He released his somewhat sticky prize and ran both hands around and down, grasping Geoff's arse-cheeks and squeezing hard. He turned their bodies and crowded Geoff up against the mattress, pulling away slightly as he pushed at the barman's shoulders. He dropped onto the bed gratefully, but didn't allow Greg to go too far, as his hands were suddenly roaming everywhere he could easily touch. Up his sternum, tickling along his nipples, clutching hard to ribcage and the backs of his denim-clad thighs, firmly squeezing at his arse. Greg tipped his head back, holding tight to Geoff's shoulders as he let him explore, finally releasing a loud groan to the ceiling as the burly Scotsman simply buried his face in his groin, his hot breath all-too-delicious against his imprisoned but throbbing cock.

There was a mumbled entreaty that Greg couldn't quite make out, but that was all right, because he knew exactly what Geoff was asking for. And as fun as it was to tease the hell out of the barman, Greg just couldn't hold back any more, not with the way that hot mouth was working over the zip on his jeans. He ran his hands over his solid shoulders to Geoff's shiny bald head, now glistening with the sweat of his desperation. Greg had to use just a bit of force to pry his mouth away from his crotch, but he finally managed to get Geoff's face tipped up enough so that he could duck down for a swift but filthy kiss. He nipped along a delightfully firm jawline to his ear, biting down viciously just to feel him squirm. "Go on, then. Suck me off, my fine gent."

"Ach, aye, mucker. _Aye_." Greg leant back slightly as stout fingers trembled and tripped along the waistband of his jeans, finally popping the button free and working the zip down delicately. He heaved a sigh of relief as his cock bobbed up, celebrating its release from its fabric prison. There was a moment of stunned silence, the barest brush of breath ghosting over his fevered flesh, and Greg looked down, frowning slightly. Geoff's eyes darted to his face, wide with delight. "An' whit's yer recovery loch, 'en?"

Greg's frown deepened even as he tried to stifle a little giggle. "Well, stupidly quick, actually. Sometimes I think I've somehow reverted back to adolescence..."

"Guid. 'At's guid."

"Why, exactly?" Greg gasped as Geoff traced along the prominent vein with his forefinger before darting in to lick at the bead of pre-come slowly oozing along the underside.

"Coz thes is a huir uv a braw tossel, 'an when ye come athwart a brammer specimen loch thes in th' wild, there's only oan hin' a body can dae."

"And what's that?"

"Bend ower fur it." Geoff cast an absolutely smouldering look up at Greg's face as he stuck out his tongue and swirled it around the head of his deeply flushed cock. "But Ah'm havin' mah taste first, mucker."

 _"Ah."_ Greg gasped again and threw his head back as Geoff swallowed him down, bobbing all the way to the root before pulling off slightly, employing his fist to give him a bit of friction to work with. "No objections here, mate." Geoff gave a nice hard pull, pushing his tongue firmly toward the roof of his mouth. "Oh fuck..."

Something pinged in his head then, and he looked down suddenly. Geoff was clearly intent on his task, his eyes closed, a small furrow of concentration in between his eyebrows. The rest of his face was relaxed, blissful even. Greg thrust languidly a few times, but then it struck him that this scene was just a bit too similar to what he had witnessed earlier in the evening, and he felt his erection wilt slightly. He reluctantly pulled free from Geoff's sturdy grip, smiling gently as he looked up in disappointment.

"Somethin' wrang, Greggy?"

"Not you. You're fucking fantastic. No, it's just..." Greg scowled faintly as he gestured down at himself, the open fly of his jeans somehow making his prick look obscene to him. Christ, but this wasn't the same, not at all. There was no reason for him to be ashamed, to feel guilty, but being in this position was just too reminiscent of the unfortunate scene he had happened to witness earlier, and it was suddenly on endless replay in his head.

A flash of understanding briefly lit up the barman's face and he nodded before tugging at Greg's jeans. "Gie thes aff. Ah've an idea." He watched with a gleam in his eye as Greg peeled himself out of his jeans, turning around briefly to toss them onto the clothing that was already piled up. Greg snorted with surprise as he felt broad hands clamped hard onto his backside, but allowed Geoff his little moment. He glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of one of the wickedest grins ever to grace a man's face. Before his giggles could start up, Geoff sighed deeply, fluttering his eyelashes as he blinked rapidly. "Ach, mucker... Ye truly ur a bonnie cheil. Aw ye is simply gorgeoos."

"Geoff..."

"Shush. Ah ken _ye_ dornt see it, but 'at doesnae make it onie less true." He tapped at his chin for a moment before beginning to shift on the mattress. "We're gonnae change things up a bit. Ye trysted me a coopon feckin', an' 'at's whit we're gonnae dae."

Greg chuckled even as his prick jumped back to attention. "I didn't promise you anything, mate." Geoff rolled his eyes as he turned his back on him, crawling onto the bed and settling down on his back, with his head hanging off the edge of the mattress. He wriggled slightly, rolling his neck on his shoulders before gesturing Greg closer. "The fuck you doing?"

Geoff giggled and blushed fiercely. "Opens up th' throat fur a braw, deep buck. Troost me, Greggy."

Greg shook his head, but moved closer, bracketing his knees around Geoff's head, letting him guide his prick back into his mouth. He breathed in deep through his nose, closing his eyes in bliss as he just allowed himself to feel that wondrous heat, the slick softness of lips around him, the sharp prickling of stubble against his skin. Greg let his hips move, shallowly thrusting once, twice. Then Geoff reached around with a firm grip on his arse-cheeks and bloody well shoved him in deep. "Fucking hell!"

He nearly fell forward, only just managing to catch himself against Geoff's barrel chest. There was a throaty but muffled moan as he brushed his fingers along the edges of his surprisingly pink nipples, and Greg moaned in return as the muscles of Geoff's throat contracted around him. He couldn't prevent his hips from thrusting again, nice and deep this time as Geoff continued to clutch at his arse. Then Greg shook his head hard, willing a bit of intelligence back into his brain, which had seemingly gone into animal mode.

The scowl that Geoff presented to him as he withdrew was meant to be fierce, Greg knew that. But he couldn't stop himself from giggling upon seeing it, heaving a sigh as the Scotsman's lips turned up at the corners slightly. He crouched down for a quick kiss, overriding the impending protestation. "I know, mate, I know. I don't mean to tease you, I swear. I just can't let go properly without it being said, all right?"

"Ye willnae hurt me, Greggy." Geoff nodded solemnly and brought him in for another upside-down kiss. "Ah troost ye. Completely."

Greg sighed against his lips, relishing in the sharp tang that he had left behind. "Christ, but you're _lovely_. Just shove me off if it gets to be too much, all right?"

"Ah tryst."

This time, Greg didn't hesitate to slide his cock in between those wonderful lips, thrusting in deep, but slow. It was initially awkward as hell, feeling the tip of Geoff's nose brushing along the underside of his cock, all too aware of the sharp bursts of air that he was taking in and releasing right at the root. Greg almost laughed when he realised just what his bollocks were slapping against gently, but his amusement was swiftly shattered as Geoff did - something - with his tongue that damn near made him see stars.

He groaned and tangled his fingers into the fur on Geoff's chest again, tugging and pulling as he increased the pace of his thrusts. " _Fuck_. You feel fantastic, mate." Greg wasn't even sure that he heard him, as his ears were pressed tight to his inner thighs, but the barman responded anyway, once again clutching hard to arse and thigh. "Sweet Jesus, yes." All right, so awkward it may be, but it was also hot as fuck, having this beast of a man prostrated so completely before him, his desire for him, his belief in him simply radiating from every inch.

Greg quickly decided that he could certainly get into this whole topping thing. As wonderful as it felt to allow himself to be overwhelmed, as he often was with Edward, this was appealing to a much more intense desire deep within himself. It wasn't just the sense of power that he was getting from having someone so eager to service him, although Greg would be a goddamn liar if he tried to deny just how good _that_ felt. No, it was more about the trust than anything else. It wasn't Geoff's obvious submission that had turned him on the most, it was that he knew that Greg would never willingly hurt him, and it was in the way he was displaying that knowledge.

Greg could do anything - Jesus, _any_ thing - that he wished, but Geoff trusted him not to, he believed in him, and good Lord, the heat that rushed through his body at that thought made his knees tremble alarmingly. He increased his pace yet again as the tension began to build and he shouted out a warning, but Geoff didn't really need it because just as his orgasm ripped through him, Greg felt his mouth, that glorious throat that was surrounding him open wide and he let his hips jerk forward hard and deep before unloading all he had into the man underneath him.

He shook his head, seeing spots, but withdrew quickly, not knowing whether Geoff preferred to spit or swallow, even though he had a pretty good idea. Indeed, as soon as his cock had slipped out, the burly Scotsman pushed himself up on his elbows, licking his lips thoroughly as he eagerly downed what Greg had gifted him. He turned a slightly sticky and utterly dazed grin on the silver-haired man, and Greg could only chuckle as he slipped into the bed at his side, bringing him in for a solid snog.

Geoff moaned as Greg's hands started to wander, and he was soon thrusting up into a gentle but firm grip. "Ach, mucker..." His head tilted back as Greg nibbled and then sucked at his neck hard. "Feckin' hell, _aye_."

"You felt so amazing, mate. Made me feel so good, Jesus."

Geoff gasped as Greg shifted downwards slightly, taking one nipple in between his teeth and tugging lightly. "Glad Ah coods oblige, Greggy."

 _"Mm."_ A nibble around his navel this time, Greg grinning up at him as his tongue rasped around and flickered in and out. Geoff slowly let his substantial thighs fall apart as Greg went to his knees between them, his hand still moving steadily on his copiously leaking prick. He bobbed down briefly, giving the head a tiny little suck, just the barest hint of pressure. Geoff gasped again, his back arching as he increased the motions of his hips. Greg began to add a little twist of his own as the brightly flushed head started to pop in and out of the circle of his fingers, squeezing just a bit tighter. "And now you're gonna let me see you come, in't that right? I want to see your face, want to know what this fabulous fur coat of yours is gonna look like when it's striped with your spunk."

"Ach. _Greggy_ \- Ah... Jesus buck!"

Greg watched with pleasure and more than a little bit of astonishment as Geoff took in a great breath and then seemed to hold it in as he thrust hard and fast up into his fist, his face going utterly pale as he came intensely, his deeply flushed cock spurting out stream after hot stream. He finally collapsed, the colour returning to his round cheeks as he panted heavily and his body twitched sporadically. Greg carefully unwound his fingers from the prize that had deflated almost instantly after release, and caressed his belly softly.

" _Shh_ , mate. Jesus Christ, that was something else."

Geoff took in a nice long breath from his nose and let it out through his mouth. "Bin a while. Bin thrang an' aw 'at. Huvnae e'en hud time tae tak' caur ay myself." He turned a soft smile on Greg and winked. "An' ye - ye took me it ay mah heed, mucker. Ah suppose Ah needed thes jist as much as ye did."

Greg hummed as he shifted, drawing Geoff's legs down before clambering on top of him. He let his fingers trail lightly along the most abundant of the stripes across his belly, laughing delightedly as he saw that the splatters that had reached as high as his chest had beaded up on top of the hair, much like early morning dew on a thatch of grass.

Geoff snorted at the look on Greg's face, but just had to smile in return before pulling him down for a sensual if thorough snog, one solid hand splayed possessively on his lower back. Greg hummed again, writhing against his solid, furry - if slightly sticky - body before going back up on his knees and taking control of the kiss, slowly thrusting his tongue deep into Geoff's mouth. The barman turned those completely dazed, utterly trusting eyes on him once again, and Greg felt a little anticipatory shiver race up his spine.

"Mucker. Ah wasnae jokin' when Ah said Eh'd bend ower fur ye..."

"Ah, fuck." Greg's head suddenly swam with utter desire and he dropped it into Geoff's neck and gave him a swift but hard bite, making him hiss and squirm. "Never done it before."

He ran his hands up and down Greg's back soothingly, humming quietly. "Ah ken."

"You'll have to be patient with me, mate."

"Aw th' time in th' warld, Greggy. Ah'm nae gonnae anywhaur."

"Heh." Greg chuckled as he rolled off of him and got to his feet, shaking his head to clear it. "C'mon then. Let's make use of the facilities that you've so thoughtfully provided." Geoff sat up and swung his legs over, planting his feet as he took the hand that Greg was offering. His warm brown eyes sparkled with delight and lust and complete and utter faith, and Greg felt something twinge in his chest before tugging him to his feet.

He ran his lips over Geoff's broad knuckles and then carefully twined their fingers together before leading the way into the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, I managed to pick myself up a Brit-picker!
> 
> Everybody, please say thank you to the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen for taking on this monumental task...
> 
> Thank you, m'dear! ;-p


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geoff introduces Greg to one of the wonders of gay sex...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Been a while since I've visited Lestrade in his lonely little biscuit tin of a flat, but this is where the muse has been residing the past couple of weeks. I hope this satisfies, and there will be another chapter before the end of the week.
> 
> Please do comment, let me know what you all think. I've been missing you! :)
> 
> (Translations for Geoff's dialogue available [here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3859345/chapters/8655610))

Once in the bathroom, Greg let Geoff walk into the shower cubicle first, watching through the clear glass doors as he got the water started. When the steam began to rise, he joined him, making sure that they were fully enclosed before gently embracing the Scotsman from behind, rocking their bodies under the warm spray together. Geoff sighed and leant into his touch, closing his eyes and simply letting Greg manipulate his body as he chose.

Greg hummed into his ear and squeezed him tight. “So. You and Scott - just a business thing?” Geoff’s ears went a bit pink around the edges, and Greg chuckled at him quietly. “I’m guessing a bit more, then?”

“Aye, laddie. He was in Glasgee fur a convention ay sorts, an’ decided tae check it th’ clubs. Ah was workin’ th’ bar, an weel, we burst it aff loch ya dae, ye ken? We hud oorselves quite a bit ay fin ‘at nicht, an’ kept in contact. ‘En he started talkin’ abit openin’ a club ay his ain.” Geoff shrugged idly as he reached for the soap and a flannel, turning in Greg’s arms. He began to run the cloth slowly up and down his back, grinning as Greg’s dark eyes fluttered beguilingly. “Ah hud some cash tucked awa’, sae Ah decided tae make mah way oan doon tae London-toon.”

“Mm. I imagine it just made sense to move in with him, then.”

“Weel, ach aye. But we werenae whit ye micht caa exclusife ur anythin’.” Geoff pushed away slightly, making room between their bodies in order to get the cloth down Greg’s front. The silver-haired man didn’t let him go far though, cupping the back of his neck, caressing his shoulder, keeping his fingers in constant contact with his skin. Geoff sighed breathily as one thumb ran over the shell of his ear. “That’s braw, Greggy.”

Greg smiled encouragingly even as his bit his lip, the flannel having wandered down to a very lovely place indeed. “How long were you together?”

Geoff shrugged. “It’s stoaner tae say. Ah got mah ain place efter puckle months, an’ we jist sort ay drifted apart, e’en workin’ at th’ club taegether. An’ he, weel, he got deeper intae th’ whole S&M hin’, an’ Ah cooldnae abide it anymair.” The Scotsman’s cheeks went a bit pink as Greg took in a deep breath and deliberately snatched the flannel away from him, obviously shaking a little more sense back into his head as he reached for the soap as well. “Aam sure it hasnae escaped yer notice ‘at Ah loch tae bottom, but gettin’ beaten oan th’ regular is somethin’ else entirely.” His cheeks heated even further as the soapy cloth was dragged over his chest almost unbearably slowly, Greg clearly taking delight in the way the sudsy bubbles lingered in the abundant hair. “Ah dornt min’ th’ occasional spankin’, sometimes Ah e’en loch it.” Dark eyes suddenly latched onto his, twinkling with mirth and more than a bit of stark lust. Geoff cleared his throat quietly. “But ‘en it was th’ belt, an’ he started callin’ me names tay.”

“Oh, mate...” Greg suddenly pulled him back in close, rubbing their soapy bodies together as he tucked Geoff’s face into his neck. The Scotsman hummed as he was squeezed gently, closing his eyes and simply basking in the attention.

He took in a deep breath. “A shameless tert Ah main be, but Ah am no-one’s whoor. Ah biddin’, coz Ah kent he needed it, an’ Ah wanted heem tae be canty. But ‘en he tied me doon, an’ brought it th’ cane. Efter ‘at Ah cooldnae sit properly fur a week. That’s when Ah stopped gonnae roon tae his, an’ he stopped askin’ me tae. We still gie alang an’ aw, but it’s mostly jist business.”

Greg kissed the top of his head as he ran the cloth down, pinching at one of Geoff’s arse-cheeks. “Don’t know why anybody would even think of abusing this lovely arse of yours, mate.”

“Ach, as if ye arenae thinkin’ abit ‘at huir uv a hin’ reit noo.”

“I have an entirely different form of abuse in mind, and you know that very well.”

Geoff quirked a very saucy eyebrow up at him and pulled him deeper under the spray, thoroughly rinsing them both free of soap. “Aye, mucker. Ah dae ken.” He stepped back and cast a calculating eye up and down Greg’s body, ensuring that he was properly clean. Geoff dropped a wink as he reached for one of the shower-head attachments. “Ye main want tae excuse yerself fur thes portion ay th’ process, Greggy.”

Greg bit his lip and felt his cheeks heat up almost unbearably, but he nodded curtly. Hesitating only a moment, he suddenly pushed Geoff up against the back wall, cupping his face in both hands and snogging him nearly senseless. The Scotsman groaned as he became extremely aware of Greg’s fully hard cock grinding into him, fighting the urge to simply fall onto his knees in front of him. Greg growled low in his ear and bit down hard on his neck. “Be quick, my lovely Jock. I’ll be waiting.”

Geoff panted quietly as Greg pulled away, snagging a towel on his way out of the bathroom. The Scotsman leant up against the wall for support until his head stopped spinning, and then began to make his preparations.

Greg paced outside the bathroom door briefly, rubbing a pleasantly fluffy towel over his head and down his chest. He paced a bit more as he continued to dry himself off, listening to the water running and the odd splash here and there. He found himself giggling quietly, shaking his head as he tried not to imagine just what might be going on behind that door. Not exactly the sexiest thing in existence, but there was something in the idea that Geoff was doing it just for him that certainly appealed.

Rather than allowing himself to dwell on it, Greg stepped over to the ubiquitous supply cabinet and began to rifle through the drawers. He pulled out everything he thought they might need and laid it out on the small bedside table before spreading his towel out on the bed and laying himself down on top of it. He spent a couple of minutes just staring up at the ceiling before he heard the shower cut off, doing his damnedest to ignore the odd nervous flip that he felt deep in his belly. Greg scoffed at himself. No need to be nervous, you daft fool - this is nothing more than a bit of fun between two blokes, not some momentous rite of passage.

Although... It sort of was, wasn’t it? Even though there had been a bit of messing about with his own arse here and there, this would be the first time he would participate in the specific act of anal sex through to completion. It felt a little bit like coming full circle, taking one more stride forward in his journey of rediscovery. Greg bit his lip and giggled again, hearing a sombre voice echoing in his head.

_‘Today, you will complete your training and step from this room a fully fledged gay man. We as the Arbiters of All Things Righteously Gay do salute you, and wish you well on all your future gay endeavours.’_

Right. He was definitely starting to lose it. But you know what? That was okay. It was okay that it was both a big deal and also not. In fact, it was probably better this way, sharing something purely physical with someone who was simply going to appreciate it for what it was and not try to inflate it into some grand gesture. Someone very experienced and completely non-judgemental, someone willing to share his knowledge, and most importantly, someone very much looking forward to Greg to taking control and fucking him into the mattress. Oh yes.

He sat up as the door to the bathroom opened, a few wisps of steam following the burly Scotsman as he emerged. Greg suddenly felt all of his nerves melt away, converging on a spot just below his bellybutton, starting to radiate heat in every direction through his body. Geoff dithered in the doorway, biting his lip and casting his eyes down to the floor as he grasped hold of the towel that was slung over his waist. He blushed and raised his eyes as Greg stood and walked over to him.

And there was that look again, that expression of pure trust that put an extra bit of steel in Greg’s spine, subconsciously making him stand up straighter. “What’s this, then?” He chuckled quietly as he reached out to tug the towel loose, tossing it in the general direction of the bed. “Coming over shy all of a sudden?” He hummed and stepped in even closer as Geoff fluttered his eyes at him in a ridiculously endearing display. “We both know that you haven’t a modest bone in your body.”

“Nae, mucker. I jist...” Whatever the Scotsman was about to utter was swallowed up by Greg as he cupped his face in both hands and pressed their lips together. He moved against Geoff’s mouth slowly, feeling the confidence rising up as the generous lips parted under his, as hot breath stuttered out over his chin. He kissed him tenderly but firmly, his every move sure and sincere in his unspoken desire. Geoff took in a great draught of breath as Greg began to move his attentions along his jaw and down his neck. “Feckin’ heel, mucker. Yoo’re jist tay damn guid at ‘at.”

Greg hummed noncommittally as he opened his mouth and bit down gently on his neck. “Mate. Is it alright if I...”

The burly Scotsman groaned aloud and strained to push his body even further into him. “Aye, ach aye. Please, Greggy.”

A low growl greeted his words, and then Geoff damn near swooned as he felt the pressure of Greg’s teeth increase, as his hot mouth sealed over the spot, his tongue probing as he sucked hard. Oh, yes, he would certainly be feeling that mark for a goodly number of days, and displaying it proudly the whole time. He clutched at his leech’s firm arse with both hands, grinding their groins together as Greg’s breath washed down his back in short, sharp huffs. Geoff staggered slightly as he felt one hand cupping the back of his neck and the other digging into one thigh, as Greg tightened his hold on everything, the pressure of his jaws becoming almost too much to bear.

He staggered again as he was abruptly released, his head reeling and vision gone a bit swimmy. Greg chuckled even as he grasped both of his hands and tugged at him perfunctorily. “Bed. C’mon, now. I want to see you all spread out for me.”

“Ach, Jesus, Greggy... Yoo’re gonnae kill me, Ah swear tae God.”

“Not before I’ve had my fun, I’m not. That is definitely not one of my kinks.”

Geoff let out a startled burst of giggles, blushing at Greg’s saucy wink. But he also hastened to comply to his demands, piling up some pillows in the middle of the bed and laying the towels down on top of the mound before climbing up on his hands and knees.

“Wait.” Geoff froze on the edge of the mattress, his head dropping down in between his arms. Greg stepped up behind him and grabbed his cheeks in both hands, spreading them wide. “Oh, my lovely, lovely Jock. Can’t wait to sink into this fine arse of yours.”

It was a moment or two before Geoff found his voice again, but at first the only thing he could spit out was a garbled noise. After clearing his throat and shaking his head, he looked over his shoulder, his eyes absolutely blazing. “And Ah cannae bide tae feel ‘at gorgeoos tossel o’ yoors deep inside me.” He bit his lip as his ears went pink again. “But nae jist yit.”

Greg sighed as if terribly disappointed, ignoring the little roll of Geoff’s eyes as he continued to crawl up in the bed. He propped himself up over the pillows and spread his legs, turning his head and nodding at the pile of supplies waiting for them. “Surely ye ken thes much. Grab a glove an’ some ay ‘at lube.” This time it was Greg’s turn to roll his eyes, but yes, this much he did know, and he hastened to snap the glove on and rip open one of the packets of lube. Geoff wriggled his arse saucily as Greg climbed up behind him. “Only one finger at first, but it willnae be tay lang afair yoo’ll be able tae gie anither one in thaur.”

“One advantage to being such a well-used tart, I suppose?”

There was another swift bout of giggles, but Geoff didn’t try to deny it, especially as Greg started to run slick fingers along and down the crack of his arse. He pushed up into his questing fingers, rolling his hips in small circles as Greg probed delicately around the edges of his arsehole. Geoff let him explore, pressing his cheek to the mattress and stretching his arms out in front of him languidly.

He moaned quietly as the first finger started to dip in, as Greg ran it in a small circle just along the inside of the delicate pucker. He pushed in just a bit deeper, bypassing the second ring of muscle, treating it to the same pattern as the first, a gentle rotation, almost like a light massage. Geoff’s body stretched out again, a swift wave of gooseflesh rippling up his spine. Greg laughed quietly and did it again, just to see if he would get the same reaction. And yes, oh yes he did.

Then he slid it all the way in, immensely gratified as Geoff responded instantly with a low groan and tilt of his hips, wordlessly encouraging him to press deeper. Greg gave his finger a little wiggle as he bent down to deliver a hearty nibble to one cheek, and he was rewarded with a muffled shout of delight. He withdrew and tilted his head with stark fascination as he pushed in again, watching his blue-clad finger slide in and out with ease.

He let a swift snort pass through his nostrils as Geoff suddenly held up two fingers, waving his hand silently. The Scotsman’s face was pressed firmly into the mattress, but there was once again a noise of approval as Greg began to probe and push with his two middle fingers. Once again working his way steadily through the second barrier, he gasped as the muscle contracted around him, squeezing hard.

“Oh, mate...”

Geoff finally turned his head, taking in a deep breath as he flexed his arse. “Aye, mucker. Aye. Noo buck me wi’ them. Slowly, min’.”

“Oh God, yes.” Bracing his free hand on one cheek, holding him partially open, Greg began to drive his fingers in and out at a steady pace, pressing in deep. After a couple of minutes of listening to Geoff’s breathy grunts, he crooked his fingers slightly, finding and caressing his prostate with ease. He chuckled as the man laid out before him cursed as his body twitched wildly, his meaty hands clutching at the bedsheets involuntarily.

“Anither. Greggy, gezz anither.”

“Pushy.” The Scotsman cast a dirty look over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing as Greg let the tip of his tongue peek out from between his teeth. “Ask nicely, and maybe you’ll get it.”

“Ach fur Christ’s sake...” He slapped one hand down on the mattress as Greg twisted and pushed and pressed just there, his eyes rolling back in his head briefly. “Braw. Please will ye gezz anither, sairr.”

Greg snorted. “Little shit.”

Geoff’s eyebrows travelled halfway up his forehead. “Wee? Ah’ve bin called mony things, but wee wasnae ever one ay them.” He grinned fiercely as Greg gave his arse a perfunctory smack. “Anither. Please.”

Greg granted his request immediately, pulling out and squeezing the last of the packet of lube out before arranging three fingers in a wedge and shoving them all in without preamble. The shout this elicited bounced off the headboard even as Geoff reached out to brace himself on it. “Oh, fuck yes, mate.” The prostrate man grunted as Greg once more twisted and pushed and pulled within him. “Gonna feel so good on my cock, I just know it.”

He was rewarded for this filthy statement with a truly heart-felt moan and a stiffening of the body laid out before him. Geoff shook his head and pushed back into his hand before raising himself up on his hands and knees. “Enaw. Ye noo. Ah need tae feel ‘at braw prick fillin’ me up.”

Greg didn’t argue, even though Geoff’s passage still felt fairly tight around his fingers. After all, it was his body and he had obviously done this many times before, so he could trust his judgement. He withdrew and snapped off the glove, tossing it into the rubbish bin next to the bedside table as he retrieved a condom and another packet of lube. He shook his head and took in a deep breath as his fingers trembled in their task, ripping open both foil packets awkwardly.

Geoff merely dipped his spine as he spread his legs a bit further and went down on his elbows. He waited patiently for Greg to gather himself, simply presenting his arse for him to appreciate and hopefully plunder. Once he was fully protected and slicked up, Greg dribbled a little extra lube down the crack of Geoff’s arse, smiling as he giggled and wriggled his behind.

“Chilly, mucker.”

“Well, let’s just see if we can’t warm it up a bit.” He grasped hold of the base of his cock and ran the head all along the crevice, pausing at the middle to circle and rub and poke ever-so-gently before moving along. He spent a fair amount of time just teasing, both the man before him and himself, almost holding his breath every time he prodded just there. Geoff moaned with every lingering touch, his arsehole twitching as if it wanted to reach out and pull him in. When he heard a low whine of utter need echoing in his ears, he finally took pity and placed the tip of his prick at Geoff’s entrance and began to push in.

Slowly, oh so slowly, and the Scotsman let out a breathy sigh of relief as he was inexorably filled. “Aye, Greggy.” There was another hearty exhalation of breath as groin met rump, as Greg grabbed hold of his hips and held his body to him hard. “Ach Jesus, but ye feel grain. E’en better than Ah dreamt...”

“And you feel amazing, mate.” Greg groaned quietly. “So hot. It’s like a fucking furnace in there.” He gasped audibly as Geoff giggled at his statement, his body contracting around him. “Oh Jesus motherfucking Christ, do that again.” This time, the Scotsman broke out into full-throated guffaws and Greg threw his head back as he gripped his hips even harder, striving to keep his cock firmly in place. “Oh fuck. Fuck me.”

“Mebbe later.”

This time it was Greg who laughed, and Geoff moaned as he pushed back into him. He ground in as deep as he could as he let out a mental sigh of relief. Yes. Yes, this was perfect. Two friends, fucking the night away and having a bit of a laugh all the same.

Geoff tossed him a little wink over his shoulder. “Ye can move, mucker. Tak’ me. Use me.”

Greg waggled his tongue at him and ran one hand up the length of his spine, applying just a bit of pressure between his shoulder blades. The Scotsman let out a quiet moan and obeyed the wordless demand, dropping his chest to the mattress and thus sticking his arse up even further. “Oh, that’s it.” He continued to caress the burly body as he started to shift his hips, rocking in and out, angling here and there, just feeling his way around. “So good, Jesus yes.” Greg pulled halfway out and grasped either arse-cheek, holding Geoff open as he watched his cock sliding in and out with utter fascination. “So beautiful. Has anyone ever told you how lovely you are like this?”

Geoff turned his face, keeping his cheek mashed to the bed. “Fur most ay them, it isnae anythin’ they huvnae seen afair. Sae nae.” He blinked slowly as Greg thrust again. “If anyain hud, it was a huir uv a lang time ago.”

“Well, that’s a fucking shame, mate.” Greg once again pulled halfway out and shoved himself back in again hard, grinning at the high whine that forced its way from Geoff’s throat. “You deserve to know how wonderful you look. And feel, fuck yes.” He let animal instinct take over for a moment, simply jackhammering into the willing body beneath his before slowing his pace but not his intensity, thrusting deep and hard.

“Ungh.” Geoff struggled to catch his breath after Greg’s swift bout of brutality, stretching his arm out to brace against the headboard. “Ach feckin’ hell, mucker. Ur ye sure yoo’ve ne’er dain thes afair?”

Greg blew out a harsh breath of his own, shaking his head. “Never.” He started to let himself go, to really feel the shifting of the muscles in Geoff’s body, his passage tightening down with every withdrawal, relaxing with every swift thrust. The heady sounds of their flesh slapping together, the grunts and moans that both of them were releasing into the air, the way his own spine contorted as he drove steadily into that oh-so-open and oh-so-willing hole. Oh. He suddenly realised that he had missed this, had missed having a warm, pliant body to fuck deep into.

Sure, Edward had gone down on him numerous times, but he had never really let him just let go, to release that basic beastly urge to rut, to let him really take him by just fucking his face. No, he had always held him down, made him go at his pace. It always ended with him getting off, so Greg had been happy enough - or so he had thought. When he had been with Nora, she had always seemed eager enough to concede to his advances, would happily spread her legs and encourage the animal to come out with soft exhalations in his ear, driving him into a frenzy with _‘c’mon baby-fuck me-hard-harder-oh yes’_ and he hadn’t even known that was something that he needed.

Not until now, when he heard the same wonderful demands in that intoxicating Scottish brogue, Geoff driving him forward with _‘harder-faster-deeper-ach aye-aye’_ and numerous grunts of pleasure. Greg trailed his fingers down the sweat-slicked spine and suddenly pulled out, almost laughing at Geoff’s expression of outrage. He shook his head with his chest heaving and clambered off the bed, standing at the edge of the mattress.

“Need to see your face, my lovely Jock. Want to watch you when you come.”

Geoff’s expression quickly morphed into utter delight, and he hastened to flip over onto his back, scooting down so that his bum was practically hanging over the edge. Without further comment, Greg scooped his hands under the hefty thighs and pushed up and out, once again mesmerised by the sight of that pink puffy hole, twitching against nothing. Geoff bit his lip and grabbed hold of his own legs as Greg angled his prick just so and shoved his way back in.

They both threw their heads back and groaned at the sensation, Geoff’s stomach muscles clamping down hard as Greg slid the head of that lovely cock directly over his prostate. “Oh yes - there we are.” With a wicked grin, the silver-haired man once again started to thrust, building into a steady, strong pace. It wasn’t long before his rhythm started to falter, however, and he leant forward slightly, pushing Geoff’s legs further up. “Touch yourself. Want to feel you come from the inside.”

“Aye, mucker.” He swiftly put action to his words, jerking his stiff prick almost brutally. “Jist loch ‘at, ach Christ...” He once again tightened all the muscles in his midriff and lower, a wicked grin of his own slicing across his face as Greg cursed and drove in even deeper. He paused as his orgasm overtook him, a pained grimace twisting up his face before his mouth dropped open and a low groan pushed up from somewhere around his belly. Geoff moaned in triumph even as he moved his hand faster, feeling the distinct jerk of the thick prick that was buried balls-deep inside him as he came.

“Dornt gonnae-no, mucker. Keep feckin’ me please och please...” Greg blinked down at him disbelievingly, but nodded after another brief moment. Once again leaning heavily on Geoff’s substantial thighs, he began to thrust deep. Yes, he was spent, but still somewhat stiff, and that was apparently all that the Scotsman needed. “Nae lang noo...” He panted and rolled his hips in short sharp jerks as he continued to abuse himself. “Christ ye feel sae guid... Sae thick an’ stoaner an’ hot... Sae close ach Christ - ach, ach Greggy!”

Greg blinked again as Geoff once more went completely white, as he held his breath and continued to fist his spurting cock until every last drop had been splattered all over his belly and chest. Greg leant forward and braced his hands on either side of Geoff’s torso, grunting quietly as the Scotsman’s burly legs came up to wrap around his waist, pulling him in even closer. “Christ, mate.” Geoff nodded his agreement even as he took Greg’s upper arms in his hands, pulling him down into a breathless kiss.

As before, Greg resumed control, reaching behind to squeeze a thigh in silent admonishment. He smiled encouragingly as Geoff let the tension in his legs go, planting his feet on the floor. They both groaned with disappointment as Greg’s cock slipped free, but took time to caress each other before he turned away to slip the soiled condom off and bin it. Then he climbed back up into the bed and held his arms out to the burly barman, and they fell into a comfortable snuggle together, their legs intertwined as hands roamed indiscriminately here and there.

“Sae hoo was it, mucker?”

Greg smiled softly as Geoff played idly with his spent prick, bouncing it lightly against his palm. “Amazing. You are beautiful and amazing and I am so glad it was you.” He reached up to cup the Scotsman’s face and ran his thumb under his eye. “So very glad.”

Geoff dropped his gaze as he blushed fiercely. “Aye. Me tay.”

Greg laughed quietly. “I dunno how you can beg to be fucked silly in one moment and then in the next look so shy and innocent. That’s quite the trick.”

“Gits me whit Ah want, doesnae it?”

They giggled together as Greg tweaked one nipple and darted in to buss his pink cheeks. “I guess it does at that.” He ran his fingers through the abundant chest hair once again, frowning as he came across a sticky patch. “Looks like you might need another shower, mate. You went and got yourself all messy again.”

“Yer fault, ye sexy dobber.” He sighed quietly and pulled away reluctantly before turning his head and delivering a cheeky wink. “Ah dornt suppose yoo’d caur tae join me?”

Greg responded by pushing him down on his back, straddling his waist and snogging him nearly cross-eyed before clambering off of his prone body and the bed. He silently held out a hand, and waited for Geoff to grasp it before pulling him to his feet and tugging him toward the bathroom once again.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg comes home to find a not-entirely-unwelcome visitor in his bed...

When Greg entered his flat, both his head and body were still buzzing quietly from the culmination of the evening. It had started out fairly nicely and had ended on a decidedly higher note. Of course, it was hard to get much better than a mutual handjob in the shower, especially when a perfectly lovely brute of a man gets down on his knees and practically begs you to blow your load all over his face. Greg shuddered delightfully, his thoroughly spent cock twitching nostalgically at the memory of seeing his spunk splashed liberally over Geoff’s round cheeks and generous mouth. God, what a rush that had been.

He frowned slightly as he recalled the other major event of the evening, the unintentional confrontation with Edward and that little tart in the gents. But no, he wasn’t going to think of that right now. The ending was perfect - the middle bit he was content to just forget about for the moment. Or at least until he went to retrieve his belongings from Edward, if he even wanted to bother. He sighed heavily as he leant up against his front door, knowing that of course he would bother. He had little enough to subsist on now that if he had to replace the three sets of pants that were currently tucked up in Edward’s bureau, it would be damn near devastating to his meagre budget.

He was so preoccupied with his glum thoughts that he hadn’t immediately noticed that his sofa had been pulled out into the bed, and that there was currently a straggly figure sprawled out over it. Greg instinctively froze for a moment, but quickly shook himself out of it, knowing that the standard burglar generally didn’t make a habit of making themselves comfortable in their mark’s bed. He snuck a bit closer, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling down at the untidy mass of dark curls spread out over his pillows. Definitely not Goldilocks, then.

Greg sighed quietly, inhaling the scent of his own soap and shampoo, noting that Sherlock’s skinny ankles and even skinnier wrists were poking out of a pair of his apparently purloined pyjamas. Not that he tended to wear them himself, but still. At least he finally knew that the irritating little berk was alive, and as he looked around, taking note of the empty biscuit packet and dirty mug on the kitchen worktop, somewhat fed. He’d have to see about getting something more substantial into him a bit later.

In the meantime, he was absolutely knackered, and there was no way he was going to let this little shit kick him out of his own bed, as miserable as it was. Purely for modesty’s sake, he snagged a pair of pants from the bureau and went into the bathroom to change before sneaking back and dropping his clothes down on the floor in an untidy pile. Trying to be as subtle about it as he could, Greg delicately lifted the blankets and slipped into the bed at the younger man’s side. Not that a pull-out could ever really be all that subtle, as the springs creaked loudly and the flimsy mattress fairly well bounced underneath him.

Sherlock came awake instantly, wild-eyed and staring, holding his hands out in a warding gesture. Greg recoiled out of the way of his swinging arms and reached out to clasp his hands in his. “Jesus! Sherlock, it’s me. It’s Greg. Calm down, for fuck’s sake.”

“Who?” Sherlock blinked at him in the early-morning gloom, his arms drooping in his grip.

“Lestrade. You’re in my bed, you daft git.”

“Oh.” His lanky frame went completely limp. “I thought you were... That they - that I might...”

Greg tilted his head, fairly sure that he wasn’t imagining the fear trembling through Sherlock’s raspy baritone. “Thought what?”

The curls shook slightly as he slid back down in the bed with Greg’s hands still clasped around his. “Never mind. It’s not and you’re not - you’re just you. Just you.”

Greg felt his eyebrows raising, not sure if Sherlock’s mumbling was the result of being awakened suddenly, or if he was coming down from God only knew what. The only thing that was clear was that he had definitely been frightened, as his entire body was shaking, making the mattress quiver underneath both of them. He gave Sherlock’s hands a tug as he laid down, and the younger man came to him eagerly, tucking his curly head onto his chest and wrapping one arm around his waist without comment or complaint. Greg blinked up at the ceiling in astonishment as his bedmate instantly fell back into a solid slumber, knowing instinctively that he wouldn’t be quite as warm and fuzzy in the morning as he was at this moment, in the dark of night. In fact, he would most likely deny that this, whatever it was, had happened at all.

But there was no reason not to participate in a willing and even enthusiastic snuggle right now, was there? So he settled back and wrapped one arm around Sherlock’s shoulders, holding him tight as he snuffled into his side. The quiet sigh that gusted over his skin nearly made him break out into tears, as it was so full of longing that he actually felt it as a twinge deep in his chest. But then, it was entirely possible that it was just his own shaky emotional state that was to blame, considering the highs and lows that he had gone through in the past eight hours or so.

Best to be dealt with in the morning, or at least during the light of day. Greg turned into Sherlock’s comforting presence and let himself drift off to the sounds of his soft snoring.

Of course it seemed only a bare moment later that he was awakened by the ringing of his mobile, blinking awake and cursing quietly as he groped about on the floor for his jeans. He rubbed at his crusty eyes as he yanked the offending device out of a pocket, glancing at the name before wincing and reluctantly climbing out of bed. Sherlock had turned his back to him, but Greg wasn’t fooled for a moment. The entire right half of his body was toasty-warm, and he was relatively sure that the side of the mattress that the younger man was currently commandeering would be cool to the touch. If he were to reach out and touch it, of course.

He decided to let the lad be and retreated into the tiny toilet, quickly dialling Nora back. Not that he didn’t know exactly why she had been calling, he just knew that it would be better to get the yelling over with as quickly as possible. He yawned mightily as he sat down on the closed toilet, glancing at the clock on his phone before putting it back to his ear. Christ. What time had he gotten in again? Only three, maybe four hours of sleep. Urgh. He found himself seriously considering calling a certain someone’s older brother to find out what would be required to make someone disappear. Although he had a feeling that Mr. Mycroft Holmes’ version didn’t rely on a limitless chequebook so much as actually making someone physically vanish off the face of the earth. A bit not good there, Detective Sergeant.

“It’s about fucking time, Greg.”

Greg blinked at the towel hanging on the rack in front of him as he struggled to process Nora’s instantly hostile tone. “The fuck? You called me like two minutes ago, you freaking maniac. Who the hell phones someone up at eight-thirty on a fucking Sunday morning anyway? And before you start whinging at me, no, I don’t have any more money and if I did I sure as hell wouldn’t be giving it to you. I’d rather spend it on food, ta very much.”

There was an affronted silence on the other end of the line. “Greg.”

“No, Nora. Just no. I don’t _have_ it. I don’t know how much clearer I can be about this. I have nothing. _Nothing._ Go ahead and sic your solicitors on me, see if they can squeeze blood from a fucking stone. I don’t understand why you’re always after me, you have Bobby...”

“Robert.”

“Whoever, whatever. Point is, you both have jobs. You’re both pulling in an income. Maybe you should start learning to live on what you’re making, yeah?”

“Greg, it isn’t that simple.”

“Sure seems to be from where I’m sitting! You get yours, I get mine, and never the twain shall meet again. The papers were signed, you didn’t ask for alimony, so whatever you’ve managed to wrangle away from me was, quite frankly, out of the goodness of my own heart. Well, sweetheart, the bank is going out of business.” He felt his throat beginning to close up and tears pricking at his eyes. “Any love and charity that was left has been squeezed right out of dear old Gregory Lestrade. I have to take care of myself now, you understand?”

There was another pause, pregnant with curiosity, and maybe even tinged with guilt. “Was - did something happen?” Nora’s voice was suddenly warm and full of concern, so much like the girl that he had fallen in love with all those years ago that Greg found himself sliding to the floor of the tiny bathroom. He wedged himself into the impossibly tight space in between the toilet and the shower cubicle, stuffing his fist into his mouth to keep from sobbing aloud, biting down hard to keep the tears at bay. “Was it Edward, did he do something to you? I had a feeling about him...” Even in the midst of his sorrow, there was a cynical little wag in his head pointing out that of course she had been suspicious of him, because she had instantly recognised one of her own, one of the misbegotten cheater tribe. “Greg, darling, you can talk to me. I’m sorry. You’re right, I’ve been an utter bitch and I am so sorry.”

Greg swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “I c-can’t, Nora. I j-just can’t right now.”

“I miss you.” Her voice was quiet and unsure, perhaps even a little needy.

“Oh God.” He lifted his eyes to the ceiling, rocking back as her words smacked him in the chest and wrenched at his guts. “Nora, this in’t f-fair.”

She let out a quiet sob of her own, her voice cracking and taking on a wheedling tone. “I know, I know I’m a horrible person but I can’t help it. God, I miss you so much. It’s like there’s this hole in me that I never even knew existed and it was you, Greg, it was always you and now you’re gone and you’re hurting, I can tell and it’s making me hurt, that hole in me is just aching. I want to fix it, I want to fill it up again but he’s not you and it’s not working. Make it stop hurting, Greg, please. Please, babe, God I miss you so much...”

Greg bit down harder on his own flesh as he listened to her pouring out her heart, hearing her words and processing them with a sudden cold clarity. He felt the lump in his throat dissolving away as he wriggled free from his plumbing prison, once more taking a seat on the closed toilet. He huffed out a disbelieving breath as he wiped at his eyes. “Jesus, you’re all... All the same.”

“I - what?”

“You and Edward both. Only ever thinking about yourselves. How do I keep winding up with such self-centred pricks?”

“Greg - darling, I don’t quite...”

“No, you don’t. It’s only now that you realise what I may have meant to you, now that I’m gone. It’s only now that you feel the hurt that I always felt - imagine all those times, Nora, when I came home to an empty house and a note on the fridge. Ladies’ Book Night. As if. I knew then, Nora, and every time was like a fucking dagger in my back. But you din’t feel the hurt then, did you? No. Because you din’t fucking care. Why do you suddenly care now?”

“I - I love you, Greg, I always have.”

“No. Maybe you did, way back in the beginning, but that all changed somewhere along the way. Then you just loved the idea of me, of having an unsuspecting someone to fall back on, maybe of even having someone nearby to torment. Well, I’m done.” He heaved out a solid breath, taking comfort in the way his head seemed to clear on the exhale. “There are times that I miss you too, you know. But not that much. Goodbye, Nora. Let me know if you and Bobby decide to get hitched. I’ll send the poor bastard a sympathies card.”

He hung up before she had a chance to respond and simply sat there until his heartbeat had settled into something more sedate than straight-up 4/4 time. He felt wretched and elated all at the same time and simply had no idea what to do with himself. So he took in another deep breath and decided to follow his usual morning routine, although he really wanted nothing more but to fall back into bed. Even if that bed currently had some kind of mad genius slash secret cuddle-fiend residing in it.

After his shower and shave he at least felt somewhat human again, although he swiftly realised that the only article of clothing he had at hand were the pants that he had worn to bed. Greg shrugged idly and threw them back on to prevent the possibility of Sherlock dropping dead from sheer disgust when he caught sight of him. Greg spared a quick glance toward the sitting room as he stepped into the kitchen and saw that the lad was awake, sitting propped up against the corner of the bed, his knees pulled up tight to his torso as his head rested on the back of the sofa.

“I’ve only eggs and toast, I’m afraid. No porridge at hand today.” He cast him what he hoped was a jesting look, but stopped as the younger man sat up and tilted his head, narrowing his eyes in thought. “Eep! Stop right there. No prestidigitation today, please.”

Sherlock huffed imperiously. “It’s not a parlour trick, Lestrade. It is simply being aware and making observations. It isn’t something that I can just turn off and I wouldn’t want to, either. This is the way my mind works.”

“That’s all well and good, my fine lad, but that doesn’t mean that everything that pops into that vastly superior mind of yours needs to come dribbling out of your mouth as well.” Greg flipped the kettle on and made a show of binning the empty biscuit packet and washing out the dirty mug as he waited for it to come to a boil. “It’s going to get you in trouble one day.” He cast a knowing eye over the figure huddled up with his arms wrapped around his lower legs. “Or perhaps it already has?” Sherlock glanced up at him sharply, his eyes once again narrowing suspiciously. “As I thought. See, you’re not the only one with a magic mind-reading ability.”

The younger man huffed again and squirmed under Greg’s scrutiny. “You may have a point about my inability to keep said observations to myself. I seem to have, well, I may have made a bit of a nuisance of myself and certain individuals took umbrage. I found it necessary to retreat from my usual bolthole and recalled your offer of shelter should the need arise.”

Greg took the two steps required to come back into the sitting room/bedroom and handed over a mug of tea. “So you found me. Will they find you?”

“I do not believe so. I made certain that I was not being followed and travelled an extremely circuitous path.” Sherlock glared at his reluctant host over the lip of his mug. “You and your grand estate are quite safe.”

“That’s not why I asked and you know it, Sherlock. It’s you that I want to see safe. I can take care of myself.”

“As can I.” He took a desultory sip of tea and immediately grimaced, but the look on Greg’s face seemed to make the incoming insult dissolve right off of Sherlock’s tongue. He instead took another sip, glancing down at his bare feet, wiggling his long toes into the mattress.

“Right. So how long shall I be hosting Your Majesty?” Greg nearly spit out his own tea at the glare that was directed at him. “Oh, calm yourself, it was a joke. If you keep squinting like that at every damn word I say you’re going to wind up with a burst blood vessel. I don’t know how I’d explain that one to your brother.”

“Ugh. You’ve met Fatcroft? And I should only be imposing on your hospitality for a couple of days at the most.”

Greg lowered himself to the mattress, not exactly next to Sherlock, but not that far either. “Well that shouldn’t be too difficult, then. I think I can at least keep you somewhat fed and it’s obvious that you have no issues with wearing my clothes...” He grinned slightly at the eye-roll that this garnered him before taking in another solid breath. “And yes, Mycroft introduced himself after catching you walking out of my house all cleaned up and fed properly for the first time in God only knows how long.” His eyebrows travelled to the middle of his forehead and he blinked at the younger man in disbelief. “Fat? Is that seriously the best you can come up with? That man is not fat, not at all. Looked nice and lean and tender to me...”

“Urgh.” Sherlock squirmed as his lips pulled down. “I may vomit. How could you consider that whale even the least bit attractive?”

“Because he is, you little twat. And because I’m a newly divorced, newly out gay man who may have just broken up with his whatever-he-was. Right now, the world is my freaking candy shop, Sherlock Holmes - and I’ve got one hell of a sweet tooth.” Greg dropped him a saucy wink, or what may have approximated one, but it was weak and he knew it.

Sherlock fidgeted a little more with his empty mug. “But still. Mycroft is... He’s...”

“Your brother. I get that you don’t see it. But he’s also not an option. Don’t worry your fuzzy little head over it.” Greg blithely ignored Sherlock’s squawk of indignation. “Powerful man like that, he can have anyone he chooses. Trust me, I’m not even on the bottom of that list.” Greg sighed heavily, completely missing the inscrutable look that Sherlock was giving him as he drank down the last of his tea. He stared out the window, remembering the little show that he had put on for the elder Holmes’ viewing pleasure the afternoon before. If it even was Mycroft, and not one of his flunkies... Or if there were a camera at all. Maybe he had performed a private show for no-one but himself. He shook his head again and jolted out of his wandering thoughts when he felt a gentle poke at the underside of his thigh.

Sherlock’s leg was extended slightly, and he was determinedly digging his toes underneath his body. Greg let out a little yelp at the chilliness of the younger man’s flesh as it made contact with his. “Dammit, Sherlock. Put on some socks or something, Christ!”

The younger man smirked and dug a bit further, letting out a little sigh as Greg settled himself firmly over his ice-cold toes. His eyes flickered up to Greg’s face and down again, suddenly seeming to come over shy. “Lestrade. The man that was at your house when I last visited - he was your - your whatever-he-was that you alluded to just a moment ago, yes?”

He tilted his head and blinked as Greg looked at him in confusion. “Ah. Didn’t really realise I’d let that one slip, or that you had been even aware enough to remember him. Yeah, Sherlock, he was.”

“He cheated on you.”

Greg rolled his eyes, knowing it wasn’t really a question. “Dunno, actually. We’d never really had that conversation, y’know?”

Sherlock shook his head. “No, I don’t.”

Greg forced his mouth into something vaguely resembling a grin. “Yeah, well... It just never seemed to come up.”

“Then...” Sherlock’s plush lips pursed in thought, and Greg had to force himself to look away, feeling a bit warm in the face. “If you had not formalised the relationship, could his actions really be considered cheating?”

“That’s a technicality, Sherlock, and a pretty shitty one at that.” Greg sighed again, fiddling with his mug absentmindedly. “He had given me a key to his flat, lad. That’s a pretty bloody serious gesture, even if it wasn’t handed over with the explicit statement that ‘you are now my boyfriend’. He certainly knew to keep his little dalliances to himself, knew I wouldn’t take it well.” He looked down at his own bare feet, ducking his chin to his chest. “Knew what Nora had done to me, and then he went and did it too, the fucking bastard.” Sherlock shrank away a little as Greg looked at him, clearly disconcerted by his bleak expression. “There are some things that you just don’t do to the people you care about.”

“And so you believe that he does not care.” Greg took in a quivering breath and covered his eyes, shaking his head. “But he has made you happy, yes?”

“Hah.” Greg heard Sherlock’s throat click uneasily from beside him as he swallowed. “He knows how to make me feel good. That’s not the same as making me happy.” He turned a questioning gaze on the younger man. “Why do you care?”

Sherlock sniffed haughtily. “I don’t. I’m just curious.”

“Right.” Greg’s smile was a bit more genuine this time, and Sherlock felt himself preening subconsciously.

“Although..." He cleared his throat awkwardly. "I would say that if anyone does deserve to feel good about something, about anything, it - it might be, well, it might be you. If you were to try again, perhaps putting some limits in place?”

“You’re telling me to give him a second chance.”

Sherlock shrugged, trying to radiate supreme unconcern. “I am merely saying that it might be an option.”

Greg shook his head in disbelief, but there was a softness in his eyes that made Sherlock suddenly go warm all over. “If I were to do that, lad, then I truly would be the idiot that you take me for.”

“You’re not an idiot.” Sherlock bit his lip as he felt his face flush, and he fought the urge to hide his flaming cheeks in his knees.

“I appreciate that, Sherlock.” Greg stood abruptly and stretched, all the muscles in his body pulling taut. This time the younger man did duck his head down to avoid the dizzying sight before him, blinking rapidly and struggling to breathe evenly. “Right now, though, I just can’t even think about it. I will go round to his and pick up my shit, and I’m going to do that while I still have some momentum going. Otherwise I’d just crawl right back into this bed and hide away for the rest of the day or maybe even the week.”

He patted the leg closest to him before retrieving Sherlock’s empty mug and going back into the kitchen to tidy up. He dug about in his bureau before tossing on a loose pair of jeans and a tattered old jumper, sitting down briefly to pull on his boots. Greg reached back and squeezed one of Sherlock’s ankles, waiting until the untidy mop shifted and one brilliant blue-green eye peeked out at him. “I trust you can make yourself something to eat without burning the flat down around your ears?”

“I know how to toast a piece of bread, you philistine.”

Greg chuckled and squeezed him again. “Good. Please do. Maybe even two, eh? Toss an egg on there too, there’s a lad.” He positively giggled at the look this garnered him. “Pasta for dinner tonight, unless you have any objections.” Sherlock put his chin on his knees and shook his head. “Good. Even though this wasn’t exactly the way I was hoping to see you, I am glad you’re here and that you seem well enough.” He stood and hesitated briefly, placing his hands on his hips. “One thing, though, and this is important. I won’t have any drugs nonsense in my home, Sherlock. You better not have brought anything in here with you, and you better not go out and get high and expect me to be all copacetic about it. I will either kick your arse out or drag your arse in.” He arched one dark eyebrow and pulled out his trump card. “Or call your brother. Are we clear?”

Sherlock tried to muster up some sense of outrage, but it just wouldn’t come. After all, he _had_ more or less broken into the man’s flat and there was something about the authoritative tone in his gravelly voice that made him want to obey. He nodded as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to ignore the erection that had been throbbing insistently at him ever since Greg had stumbled out of bed clad in nothing but snug-fitting boxer briefs. His cheeks once more went pink as the silver-haired man turned away, recalling the way his overly-warm body had felt tucked up next to his. Dammit all to hell.

He watched silently as Greg gathered up his wallet and keys, giving him a little wave as he walked out his front door. With a heavy sigh, Sherlock clambered out of the bed and went to make toast, but halfway there he detoured to the tiny toilet. Might as well deal with a certain nuisance first...


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg confronts Edward...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may be some of the angsty-est stuff I've ever written, I found myself getting a little overwhelmed at some bits. I know some of you may be a little disappointed with our dear Gregory here, but he's had a rough 24 hours, okay? 
> 
> Please do comment, share your anguish!
> 
> Kisses, lovelies!

Greg emerged from the underground and took in a cleansing breath. There was a slight chill in the air, perhaps to be expected at the still relatively early hour. He almost laughed as he looked up and down the somewhat deserted streets of Soho. God, what was he thinking? Why the hell was he out and about so early on a Sunday morning? Edward wouldn’t have even rolled out of bed yet. Hmph. Maybe that was it, though. Maybe he just wanted to make a pest of himself one last time, a final dig in E’s ribs. It was the very least of the tiniest of annoyances, though, and Greg found himself wishing that he had thought this through a bit more before acting.

But no, it was better that he got it out of the way as quickly as possible. His fantastic night with Geoff notwithstanding, he was feeling eager to scrape off any of Edward’s lingering influence on his life. He wanted to be done with him, right? Right. His resolve faltered as he dithered outside the door to E’s flat, pacing up and down a couple of times before shaking it off and finally knocking. Greg snorted as the door opened almost immediately, realising that Edward must have been waiting for him.

“Well, you look like shit.”

Edward blinked at him a little owlishly, holding up his arm to shield his face from the early morning sun. His hazel eyes were bloodshot and hazy, and although he usually kept his hair fashionably shaggy, it was messier than usual, sticking up in random directions. He cleared his throat groggily as he stood to the side, holding the door open as Greg strode in.

“Just fell asleep on the sofa.” He self-consciously raked his fingers through his hair and tried to brush the wrinkles out of his t-shirt as he closed the door behind him. He leant up against it as Greg turned to face him, crossing his arms over his chest impassively. “You - um - you look good.”  Greg let a smug smile stand in for any snarky comment, shrugging his shoulders idly. Edward's face clouded over briefly as he nodded his understanding. "Ah. Always heard good things about Geoff, but I've never had the opportunity."

"Doubt he'll ever offer it, E." Greg tilted his head. "Although he was extremely...accommodating and very, very sweet to me." He shook his head abruptly. "But he has no bearing on what's going on between you and me. I'm just here for my stuff, and then I'll be out of your life." He tried to ignore the little pang in his chest as Edward's face twisted into grief.

But he couldn’t ignore the way Edward tried to pass it off, scrubbing at his face as he pushed away from the door. “Coffee. Can’t do this without coffee. You want some?”

Greg shrugged again as he turned toward the bedroom. “Whatever.” He flipped on the light as he entered, deliberately diverting his gaze from the neatly-made bed as he went to the bureau. The bottom left drawer had been designated as his rubbish bin fairly early on, and he couldn’t remember having actually gone through it in detail. God only knew what was in there... Greg spent a moment or two bent over futilely digging through the contents, but he finally just yanked it out and carried it over to the bed, upending it all over the duvet.

Christ, it really was a rubbish bin, wasn’t it? He quickly sorted out his three - no, four - sets of pants, a couple of tatty vests and a surprising number of socks, although he didn’t think the single black one actually was his. There was a book or two, and a CD case which was frustratingly empty. He frowned down at the remaining bits and bobs, at the random empty sweets and gum wrappers and an old stick of lip balm that had clearly outlived its usefulness. With a little frown of concentration, he swept the detritus into the actual rubbish bin that stood by the bedside table.

Shifting the rest of it into an untidy pile, he uncovered the single key on the keyring that he had given back to Edward the night before. Greg picked it up with a quiet sigh, closing his eyes as he clenched his fist around it tight. He wasn’t even sure how long he stood there, his mind nothing but a blank, but he became aware of Edward’s presence slowly, as something warm and solid at his back. It was almost unbearably comforting. He glanced over his shoulder to find him leaning up against the doorway with his half-drunk coffee in hand.

Edward nodded toward the steaming mug that he must have placed on the bedside table next to him sometime during his silent reverie, and Greg picked it up without thinking on it too hard. The mellow earthiness of the hot liquid settled into his belly like a soothing balm, and he breathed out a low moan of satisfaction. Edward’s body twitched subconsciously, although he tried to hide it by unfolding himself and taking a couple of steps into the room.

He held out a canvas tote that Greg hadn’t even been aware that he’d had tucked up behind his back. “Noticed you didn’t have a bag with you. Take this one.” When he didn’t make a move to take it, Edward tossed it on the bed by his pile of goodies. He lowered himself to the edge of the mattress, cradling his mug in both hands as he cleared his throat awkwardly. He still looked like shit, his face drawn down in misery, but at least his eyes were a little bit clearer. “Despite what you might think of me, I truly am sorry.” Greg kept his silence as he eyed him up and down, taking another healthy draught of coffee, unaware that he was still holding the key in his left fist. Edward dropped his eyes to the floor between his bare feet, his toes curling up against the hardwood. “I told you. Remember? I told you that I would end up hurting you even though I didn’t want to. I’m a horrible person.”

“Have you tried _not_ being horrible?” Edward’s head swung up abruptly, his eyes blinking rapidly in startled thought. “I mean really _tried_ , Edward. Have you ever just taken a moment and thought about someone other than yourself before doing whatever it is that you want to do anyway?” Greg huffed out a breath of laughter as Edward’s head tilted, looking quite a bit like a confused puppy. “Thought not. I was there last night, you know. I was _waiting_ for you. If you wanted a quick blowjob in the gents, I would have been more than happy to do that for you, and you knew it. But I wasn’t even in your head, was I? How does that happen? How do you claim to care about someone and then completely forget about them?”

“I don’t know.” Edward’s lips quivered as he shook his head. “I told you - I’m horrible and selfish and I just don’t know...”

“At some point, you told me that there was something about me that made you want to try. Were you lying to me?”

“No. I meant it. I still do.”

Greg huffed out another breath as he set his empty mug down, crossing his arms over his chest. “But you never actually made the attempt, did you?” Edward at rubbed the back of his neck as he shrugged, avoiding his eyes. Greg growled in frustration, the simmering anger in his chest beginning to boil over. “God, it’s like I’m dealing with a child!”

Edward stood abruptly and stalked over to the bureau, setting his own mug down before throwing his arms in the air. “I thought that maybe it was okay - I mean, we never said we were exclusive or anything, right? So I didn’t have to try - it was working, wasn’t it?”

“Obviously not, you thrice-damned fool! I tried to talk about it I don’t know how many times, and you always shut it down. You always shut me up by making eyes at me and next thing I knew somebody’s mouth would be occupied and of course talking was suddenly right out.” Greg levelled an accusing finger in Edward’s direction. “You did it on purpose, I know you did.”

Edward deflated slightly as he leant up against the bureau. “Yeah.” He raked his hands through his hair and cast a sheepish look at the man standing by the bed. “Yeah, I did. You’re right. I am a child and I did everything I could to avoid that conversation because just the idea of it scared the hell out of me.”

Greg spread his arms out wide. "Why?"

“Look at me, Greg. Look at my life. I _am_ a child. I run around with my mates and go to parties and have fun. Life is a game to me and that’s the way I like it. Nice and easy and _fun_. What you’re asking for is more than just keeping my pecker in my pants. You’re asking me to grow up, and frankly, that’s fucking terrifying.”

Greg glared at him fiercely. “Oh, fuck _off_ for fuck’s sake! There’s more to life than games, Edward! And for the record, did I ever once tell you to grow up? Huh? Did I ever ask you to change for me? Did I?”

Edward squirmed under his intense scrutiny. “Only because I didn’t give you a chance.”

Greg felt his mouth drop open in sheer effrontery. “Do you really think so little of me? Don’t you know better than that?” He flung out his left arm and the key flew from his fist, hitting Edward square in the chest before falling to the floor. “Goddamn it you fucking fool, I love you just the way you are.” Edward froze like a deer in headlamps as Greg sank down onto the edge of the mattress, hiding his face in his hands. “God help me, just the way you are...”

Edward’s temporary paralysis fled as he heard the first heart-wrenching sob, and he hastened to throw himself down on his knees at Greg’s feet. He hesitated to reach out to him, though, not at all sure whether his touch would even be welcome. “Fuck. Oh God no, darling, don’t. Please don’t.” He felt the tears beginning to stream down his own face as Greg lowered his hands, his dark brown eyes swimming in sorrow and misery. “Please. I don’t - I don’t know what you want, I don’t know how to make it better, tell me how, please...” Greg shrugged as he wiped at his face, running his damp hands over his thighs. Edward swallowed and tentatively reached out to take his hand, clasping it tight when Greg didn’t immediately pull away. “Tell me who you want me to be - tell me what you want from me and I swear to you that I will do all I can to make it right.”

Greg’s smile was far too melancholy for Edward’s liking, and he shuffled just a bit closer, wanting desperately to be able to lay his head down in his lap. “I’ve only ever wanted you, Edward. I want to hold your hand while watching my crap shows and dance with you in your crap clubs. I want to laugh at you attempting to cook dinner for us and I want to make you laugh by imitating silly animal noises in bed. I want to be held by you when I’m feeling sad and I want to make you feel like you’re walking on clouds by waking you up with my mouth on you. I want to feel like my head is going to explode when you’re making love to me, like everything is just right with the world and it can’t get any more perfect.” Greg reached out with the hand that Edward wasn’t holding tight, running his fingers through his hair and pulling his head down. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Edward let out a sob of his own as Greg’s words sank into his head and clutched at his heart. “But... But that’s what we had.”

“No. No, it’s not. You may have felt that way when you were around me, but when I’m not in your immediate line of sight, it’s like you forget that I even exist. You have to be able to feel those things for me when I’m not there, too. You linger in my thoughts, E. I think of you all the damn time, and do you have any idea how badly it hurts to know that I’m hardly even a blip on your radar?”

“But I do think of you, darling. Just not...when...when I’m... Ah, _God..._ ” Edward groaned from somewhere deep in his gut, burying his face in Greg’s solid thigh. “I mean, I call you, don’t I? When you’re at work, but you’re usually so busy that I feel like I’m intruding, especially when I just wanted to hear your voice so when you don’t pick up I don’t leave a message because I know you’re doing something important and what the hell we’ll talk later anyway, right, but then I really do need to hear your voice so I’ll just play something from my voicemail I save most of them just so I have a reminder of you...” Edward took in a gasping breath as his voice petered out, shaking his head as Greg’s fingers tightened in his hair. His chest hitched, but no air seemed to be getting through.

“Christ, E.” Edward shook his head again, his distress suddenly quite apparent as his fingers scrabbled against his legs. Greg released his hair and gave him a sharp smack on the back, waiting until he heard at least one whole shaky breath being taken in and let out again. He stroked through Edward’s hair and as far down his back as he could reach, moving slowly and deliberately, until he was subconsciously mimicking the rhythm of his hands with his breath. “That’s it. Nice and slow.” Edward shuddered underneath his hand, once again dropping his cheek to rest on his thigh. “You never told me.”

“Y-you were always so b-busy... Didn’t want to b-bo-bother you.”

“Shh... Just rest for a moment. Get your air back, yeah?” Edward nodded feebly, and Greg felt his jeans getting soaked with tears, but he kept stroking, humming quietly to aid in relieving some of the unbearable tension that had built up between them. Christ, he had been so sure this morning, so resolute in his decision to just get his shit and walk out and forget all about him, but now - dammit. Because it was so easy to fall out of love, wasn’t it? Maybe... Maybe Sherlock was right. Maybe if they ironed out a few rules, they could try again. Fuck. He was an idiot, wasn’t he?

“I walked for hours this morning.” Edward rubbed his cheek against his leg and sat up, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Hours and hours. I’m not even sure where I ended up - the cab fare to get back here was atrocious.” He smiled faintly at Greg’s sharp snort of laughter. “I was thinking of you the whole time. Wishing I could have apologised properly, wishing I could take it back. Resolving to try if you would only let me. Will you let me, Greg?”

Greg sighed heavily, trying to ignore the burgeoning hope in Edward’s face. “Do you mean it? Really mean it? Like if you’ve got another tart on his knees just waiting for you, will you think of me and keep your trousers zipped? Will you let your brain make the decision as opposed to your dick?” Greg felt his throat beginning to close up on him again, his eyes pricking almost painfully. “I...I don’t know, honestly. It’s going to be harder to trust you now. Even though I think I always knew what you were up to. Just like Nora.” Edward’s shocked gasp made Greg smile, just a tiny little bit. “Yeah, you get it now, don’t you?” He gave his shoulder a brief shove. “Fucking idiot.”

Edward blinked up at him with his mouth hanging open for a moment. “God, you must hate me. I’m such a bastard.”

“You’re impulsive and maybe a bit thick, but no - I don’t hate you. I wouldn’t be sitting on your bed with your tears soaking into my jeans if I hated you, Edward. I am disappointed, but that isn’t anything special. You knew I would be, which is why you so astutely avoided the whole conversation in the first place. And look where that’s got us.” Edward shifted on his knees and looked up at him a bit sheepishly as he rubbed at his damp face. Greg bit his lip and was appalled to feel a light blush blooming on his cheeks. “I don’t really expect you to be monogamous, you know. I realise that it’s a bit unfair of me, that my past experience doesn’t really translate to my current experience. Things are different now, and maybe it will just take me a little while to get used to that.”

Edward tilted his head. “It’s okay to want monogamy, Greg.”

“I know. But it’s not okay to unilaterally demand it, especially with someone like you.”

Edward did his damnedest to look shocked and outraged, but failed completely as his lips twitched up into a grin. “I’m not that much of a slut, darling.”

Greg nudged at his knees with his foot. “Yeah, you are, and you know it. I know it too, even though I was trying to ignore it. And to be honest, I’m not even sure that I do want that kind of commitment, at least in the long term.”

“But...?” Edward drew the word out as he traced the outside seam of Greg’s jeans along his thigh.

“But I do need it right now. I need to know that you want to be with me, and only me before I’d be comfortable with knowing that you’re out there playing with someone else.” Greg’s fingers tangled together as he dropped his eyes to his lap, his gut twisting almost painfully. “I need to know that I’m a priority in your life, that I’m important to you. At least until I figure my own shit out. Is that even something you can offer me?”

Edward bit his lip as he glanced up into Greg’s deep dark eyes. “How long?”

Greg shrugged. “Three months? Then we’ll see where I’m at, and if I feel like I need a closed relationship, then we can go our separate ways with no hard feelings.”

“Like I’m gonna want to let you go.” Edward gave into the impulse that he had been fighting ever since Greg had walked in, going up on his knees and wriggling his way in between his thighs. He wrapped his arms around his middle and planted his face in his chest, just holding him tight. Greg let out a sound that was mixed relief and joy and satisfaction, returning his embrace with only the slightest hesitation.

He rocked their bodies together slightly, dropping his head to press his cheek into Edward’s hair. It still smelled of the product he had put in the night before, like sweat and cologne and the faintest hint of alcohol. Like the club. Greg sighed, heaving coffee-scented breath out over Edward’s scalp, smiling as he shivered against him. He straightened up, noting with some small amount of amusement how Edward’s arms tightened around him. He gently prised his face away from his torso, tilting his head up with a firm grip on his cheeks. Edward’s eyes fluttered against his breath as he tilted his head further, accepting Greg’s soft kiss on his lips with only a shaky little cry.

“I don’t deserve you.”

Greg smiled down at him with an odd sort of fond sadness. “No. No, you don’t.” He pushed him away and reached for the tote bag before beginning to shove his assorted crap into it. He dropped it at the foot of the bed as Edward shuffled away from him, his face drawn down in misery and defeat. A small amount of confusion followed as Greg unlaced his boots and kicked them off in the direction of the bag, quickly following it with his jumper. “I’m tired, Edward. I figure we’ve only had a few hours of sleep between us. What say we remedy that, and then maybe we can talk a bit more when our heads are clearer?” He leant back against the mattress and wriggled his jeans off, leaving his pants on. “As long as you promise that we will talk, and that you won’t try to distract me with sex.”

Edward bit his lip as he stood and started to shed his own clothing eagerly. “As long as sex isn’t completely off the table, I would be more than willing to talk.”

Greg chuckled quietly as Edward pushed him down, hovering over him in anticipation. “After our nap, E. All this emotional shit has me utterly knackered. C’mon.” He rolled out from underneath him and started to tug at the bedclothes, silently sliding in between the sheets. He winked at Edward as he turned his back to him, settling down into the pillows with a sigh.

Edward simply stood there for a long while, staring at the gentle curve of Greg’s spine. God, he really didn’t deserve him at all. But he couldn’t let him go either. Edward laid himself down next to him, taking the unspoken invitation as Greg wriggled his body gently. He turned into him and wrapped one arm around his waist, his chest hitching with unshed tears as Greg twined their fingers together and pulled him in closer, bringing their joined hands up to his sternum. He hummed as Edward buried his nose in the nape of his neck, breathing him in deeply. And then they were both out, almost as if someone had flipped an ‘off’ switch in their heads. **  
**


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Edward 'talk'...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, yeahhh... Not so much talking, really. I believe that will happen in the next chapter, however.
> 
> Sorry for not posting much last week, it was a bit hellacious. I'm hoping to get more done this week, though!
> 
> Missed you all - please comment, let me know how you're doing! *mwah*

_In the heat of the night_  
_In the heat of the day_  
_When I close my eyes_  
_When I look your way_  
_When I meet the fear that lies inside_  
_When I hear you say_  
_In the heat of the moment_  
_Say, say, say..._

 **  
** Greg blinked lazily as the steady beat of the music slowly permeated his consciousness, gently bringing him back to awareness. He stretched under the sheet as he felt the dip of the mattress behind him, humming low as Edward plastered himself to his back.

“So there’s the CD I was missing.” Edward grunted out some form of acknowledgment as he slid just a bit further down in the bed, tilting his hips and grinding his erection into Greg’s backside. He moaned quietly and shifted back against him, moving his hips in a slow circle. “Bastard. I haven’t decided anything yet, you know.”

“I know.” Greg shivered at the low throb of arousal in Edward’s voice, internally cursing himself for responding so viscerally to nothing more than his presence. He was utterly weak for this man, wasn’t he? Edward nuzzled at his hair as he ran his hand down his sides and around, leaning back just far enough to slide his fingers up the crack of his arse over his pants. “I do know, darling, and I don’t blame you for needing more time. I just - maybe... Maybe you’ll let me give you something that you’ve wanted for a while, and even if you never come back to me then it will be time spent together that we can both look back on fondly...”

Greg groaned and spread his legs as he rolled slightly, wordlessly opening himself further for more of Edward’s touch. “Sodding bastard.” He stretched again, pushing up against the headboard and mashing his face into the mattress.

“Yeah, I am. But I’m _your_ sodding bastard. Let me fuck you, darling. Please. Let me do this one thing for you, at the very least.”

Greg blinked at the pillow in front of his face as he turned his head to take in a solid breath, a gentle fire beginning to burn in the pit of his belly as Edward continued to stroke him, concentrating his efforts almost entirely on his bum. _Bastard. Fucking son of a bitch bastard but ohhh fuck that felt sooo good..._ His spine stiffened abruptly as he came to the realisation that Edward had most likely been holding back on this particular act for this very reason - to use it as some kind of half-arsed apology for when he inevitably fucked up. He had practically admitted that he knew that he would, but the idea of holding something like this in reserve for when he did struck Greg as so abhorrently manipulative that he actually felt a brief shudder of revulsion shoot through him.

But then those absurdly talented fingers slipped underneath the waistband of his pants, and there was a feather-light caress around his pucker and fuck if that didn’t wipe all coherent thought right out of his head. So what if he had been holding back on fucking him for some ridiculous purpose that made no sense to anyone but himself? Greg would finally get what he wanted - to feel that magnificent cock buried deep inside him - and since he knew what Edward had been up to, his scheming couldn’t possibly have any effect on him. Right? Well, besides hopefully making him come like a rocket, of course.

Rather than voicing any of this, Greg simply rolled onto his belly and lifted his hips, waiting for Edward’s suddenly trembling fingers to draw his pants down and off before spreading his legs wide, exposing the most intimate part of himself without any trace of shame. Edward immediately scrambled to kneel between his open thighs, draping his body over Greg’s back and kissing his neck and shoulders as he dragged the head of his cock along the crack of his arse.

“So beautiful, so lovely. My darling copper.”

Greg huffed out a quiet laugh even as he rolled his eyes. “Get on with it, E. You’ve made me wait long enough, don’t you think?”

Edward pulled away with a little huff of his own. “I just wanted you to be sure, darling.”

“You wanted me to be panting after you like a bitch in heat, _darling_. Now let’s be done with this nonsense. You either stop messing me about and fuck me like you bloody well mean it, or you let me up and I will walk away from you for good.”

_“Nghk.”_

Greg grinned to himself as there was another shifting in the bed, as he heard the distinctive squelch of lube being extracted from the large bottle on Edward’s bedside table. He braced himself for the potential chill, but subconsciously relaxed as Edward placed his clean hand on the small of his back, his thumb caressing the dip of his tailbone.

The first light touch was centred on his perineum, just a gentle rolling pressure that drew a low moan from deep in his chest. It wasn’t a tease, no, it was a prelude, a quiet precursor of things to come and oh, it was so delicious. Edward’s breath went a bit ragged as Greg lifted himself up slightly, letting his hardening cock drop down between his thighs before it bobbed up against his belly. He grunted as his would-be lover took the silent invitation, sliding his hand down and between to grasp and tug firmly, his slick fingers dancing over the exposed head delicately.

“Oh, darling. So hot and heavy in my hand. You’re ready for this, aren’t you?”

“E, you damnable fool. You know that I’ve been ready for this for months. Get your fingers up in there and start opening me up, already.” Greg tossed an exasperated glance over his shoulder. “You said you were going to give me what I wanted, and what I want is your cock inside my arse. You’ve known that all along. So stop teasing and do what you said you were going to do.”

“Tsk. So impatient.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve gone and made me all horny, and you know what that does to my sense of timing. So get on with it and _fuck_ me.” He growled low as Edward traced up and down the crack of his arse with slick fingers. “I’m not going to beg you, Edward. You give me what I want or I will go and find someone else who will. Geoff has a perfectly lovely prick, and I’m sure he would be more than happy to oblige me if I asked to ride him like a prize stallion.”

Edward’s mouth turned down into a rather impressive frown, making Greg snort derisively. “But darling, he doesn’t mean anything to you - it wouldn’t feel right.”

“It would feel wonderful. Don’t kid yourself, Edward. I know exactly what you’re trying to do here. You’ll be my first, and so you’ll always be special, right? It’s always been your intention to try and brand your name on my heart as ‘the one’, no matter how badly you might treat me. You were only waiting for an opportunity to make this happen, thinking that it would somehow heal whatever rift you would inevitably create. But it won’t. It’s just sex, E. What matters is how you behave when we aren’t in bed together. Don’t fool yourself into thinking that this one act is going to fix anything between us.”

“But that wasn’t...I never - I mean...”

Greg cocked one eyebrow as he went up on his elbows, looking back at his would-be lover once again. He almost smiled as Edward deftly impersonated a confused puppy with nothing more than an inquisitive tilt to his head, but he simply huffed out a breath of impatience instead. “Whether you meant to do it or not, that’s exactly what you’ve been doing, E. I won’t say that it doesn’t hurt, because of course it does.” He sighed heavily. “In fact, we shouldn’t even be doing this - not right now. But sod it all. I don’t want to wallow in my misery, I want to feel good. And Lord help me, but I want you to be the one to make that happen.”

“Darling...”

Greg hummed and wriggled his arse as Edward shifted behind him, his warm breath washing over the small of his back. He sighed and tilted his hips as the tip of one finger began to probe at his hole gently. “Yes, E. God, yes. Just make me forget about it for a little while.”

Edward’s hand paused briefly and Greg swallowed as he felt a tremor in the mattress beneath him. He resolutely did not look back, not wanting to know whether it was lust or grief that had caused his lover’s body to shake like that. Instead, he grabbed at a nearby pillow and tucked his arms up under it before planting his face deep in the plush firmness, hoisting his hips up even higher.

Edward growled from behind him and once again began to probe, but even with as much as Greg insisted that he wanted this, it was obvious that his body wasn’t fully on board with the idea, clamping down hard and firmly resisting his gentle approach. He sat back on his heels after an extremely frustrating couple of minutes, blowing out a disheartened sigh. “You’re too tense, darling. Are you sure you really want this?”

Greg countered with a snarl of his own. “This is going to happen, Edward. Today. _Now_.”

Edward hummed as he contemplated, finally shuffling a bit closer on his knees. He grasped Greg’s arse-cheeks in either hand as he leant forward, opening his mouth and letting the warm exhalation of his breath caress the dusky furl of his hole. Greg shuddered as gooseflesh popped out all over his back and lower, causing the tiny hairs to stand on end. Edward chuckled quietly and ran his thumbs over the small bumps, making them stand up even more prominently.

Greg tensed again as Edward moved in even closer, pulling away with a quick jerk at the first touch of his tongue on one cheek. “No, E. Not without protection.”

“Shh, darling. I would never. Just - trust me, yeah?”

Greg almost laughed aloud at that seemingly innocuous statement, considering their current situation. Instead, he just took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, dipping his spine and allowing Edward to approach his exposed arse once again. He subconsciously flexed his buttocks as the heat of Edward’s body moved in closer, shivering at his lover’s low growl of approval. Greg fought to keep his spine loose and flexible as he felt that nimble tongue press down on one cheek, swirling around the flesh before his mouth closed down on him firmly. Sucking, nuzzling and biting his way across his arse, Edward’s low moans of appreciation slowly filtered in through the litany of negative thoughts running through Greg’s head.

He shook himself slightly and forced his mind to quiet itself as Edward carefully fuelled the fire simmering in his gut with his ardent attentions and Greg almost didn’t feel when the first finger slid in easily. He only became aware as Edward wriggled it gently, letting out a quiet "Ah!" of surprised pleasure as the tip ghosted over his prostate. He moved languidly against it as Edward pushed in deeper and then withdrew, slowly moving his finger in wider circles, pushing against the inner ring of muscle.

Greg shuddered as his cock filled out again, his erection having withered slightly during the dressing-down that he had delivered. Edward swiftly took advantage with his free hand, sliding it up and down the pre-slickened shaft with ease. He pulled it further down between Greg’s thighs and leant in to nose at his bollocks, sucking one and then the other into his mouth as he continued to fuck him with one finger.

Greg shouted into the pillow before pulling away with a harsh gasp. “E, no. I wanna...”

Edward chuckled against the taut skin of his scrotum as he reluctantly straightened, increasing the pace of both hands. “Oh, you will, darling. You know that you’ll be able to get it up again before too long, especially once I have you impaled on my cock. This first one will just help to loosen you up a bit.” He hummed as Greg’s hips jerked erratically. “Oh, there you are. Do you know how much I love to watch you come, my darling? Love to feel you twitch and love the way you explode in my hand, God yes.” He growled as the first telltale tremors began to travel up the back of Greg’s thighs, bending down swiftly to sink his teeth into one gloriously firm arse-cheek. “I could just watch you come for hours and hours, Greg. Watch you come for me.”

He twisted both wrists and grinned fiercely at the muffled shout his actions elicited, feeling a swift torrent of warmth exploding in his own groin as Greg’s cock swelled and burst in his hand, striping the mattress and his fingers with hot come. Greg pushed his face even further into the pillow as he wriggled and writhed through a number of aftershocks, and somewhere in there, Edward managed to slip another finger into his somewhat loosened arsehole. He smiled smugly to himself as Greg went up on his elbows, heaving out a great draught of breath as his body shuddered to a halt.

Edward gave him only the briefest of moments to recover before subtly wiggling the two fingers buried deep, barking out a quick burst of laughter as Greg cursed vociferously. “Ungh! Jesus fuck, E! I get it, I get it - your dastardly plan worked. Give me more than one second here, would ya?” Edward laughed again as he stilled his fingers, bending forward to press a kiss to Greg’s spine as he let out a quiet chuckle of his own. “Bastard.”

Edward blinked against Greg’s sweat-slickened back, turning his face and pressing his cheek into one shoulder blade as he absentmindedly wiped his soiled fingers on the bedsheet. Greg’s voice had taken on that fondly teasing tone that he so loved to hear, and for some reason it was making him feel unaccountably wretched. Greg seemed to sense the change in his mood, but he clearly wasn’t up for any other emotional breakthroughs at the moment as he imperiously wriggled his behind, clamping down hard with his internal muscles and letting out a groan of undeniable pleasure.

Edward sniffed quietly as he straightened, slowly and gently thrusting his fingers deep into the furnace of Greg’s body. He murmured to himself as he gripped one cheek hard, watching his digits plunging in and out of his lover’s eager hole. “So beautiful. The loveliest man I’ve ever had willing to bend over for me.”

“Don’t you try to bullshit me, Edward.”

Edward rolled his eyes and pushed deeper, grinning at Greg’s muffled grunt. “I’m not, you damned fool. It’s astonishing to me that you don’t seem to realise what a gorgeous specimen you are.” He let his free hand wander wherever it could easily reach, down strong thighs and across taut muscles, dancing over the nubs of his spine. “Strong and fine and so beautiful that it damn near makes my heart ache.”

“E...”

“Hush, love. Just let me worship you a little longer.” Greg did fall into an astonished silence at that, but Edward knew that was most likely due to the little endearment that had slipped off his tongue. After all, he _did_ love him after his own limited fashion. He just didn’t trust that his imperfect version of that emotion would be enough to combat his own unrelenting selfishness, that almost unceasing search for something _more_ , whatever that paltry word even meant. Edward didn’t always feel the need to pursue that unquantifiable urge deep in his bones - not when Greg was around. But what he had said earlier in the morning had been painfully accurate. When Greg wasn’t there, it was like he didn’t exist at all in Edward’s mind. And if an opportunity presented itself, well - why the hell not, right? There was nothing and nobody to hold him back, after all.

As much as he truly adored the man prostrated before him, he didn’t feel beholden to him in any fashion. It had been a bit of a revelation to realise that Greg didn’t really expect him to be completely faithful to him. Really, all he wanted was a bit of respect, and Edward was rather ashamed that he had never even given him the opportunity to express that. But of course he needed to prove himself now, didn’t he? Three months. He could do three months. Right? Well, if he didn’t want to lose him, then he damn well better.

Greg moaned throatily as his fingers glanced against his sweet spot, writhing mindlessly as Edward continued to work him open. He trailed his free hand up his inner thighs and let one fingernail tap against his scrotum before reaching a little further forward. Edward hummed low at the plumpness of Greg’s cock - not quite hard again, but clearly on its way. He chuckled at his lover’s groan of disappointment as he withdrew completely, reaching for another squirt of lube.

“Going to try for three now, darling. Try not to tense up.”

Greg mumbled something nonsensical that was mostly swallowed up by the pillow clenched in his teeth, but the curt nod of his head was easy enough to read. Edward blew out his own steadying breath before arranging three fingers in a wedge and poking gently until the tips were in. Greg spit out the pillow and cursed again, obligingly bearing down on the intrusion as Edward slowly and carefully pushed forward. Once his fingers were fully seated, he paused to give Greg a moment, stroking his body aimlessly to help distract his attention.

But his lover simply rocked his hips back and spread his legs even further, moaning low as Edward raised one eyebrow and straightened his fingers deep within him. “Oh, fuck yes, E... Unh, yeah, that’s just what I need.” Greg pushed back against him as he wiggled his digits deep, and Edward abandoned his apparently unnecessary soothing, reaching down to stroke himself somewhat awkwardly. He had been so focused on paying attention to Greg’s body, making sure that he wasn’t going to hurt him, that his own desire had been pushed to the back of his mind.

It came roaring back to the forefront now, though. Especially as he watched those firm arse-cheeks flexing around his hand, as he felt the heat deep within and the tightness of his lover’s passage. The faint squelching noises that were being produced also went straight to the root of his cock, making it twitch appreciatively. God, he could so easily imagine how wonderful it would feel to be buried in that heat to the hilt and it was such an enticing thought that the rush of blood leaving his brain for southern climes nearly made him swoon.

Greg moaned as Edward braced himself on his lower back, stilling his own frantic motion. “More, E. More - I need you. Need your cock now, oh God.”

Edward almost laughed at the desperation in Greg’s voice, and if he had been a little less wrought up himself, he may have. But the first time was never a time for teasing, not really. No matter how slowly you may try to move forward, it always devolved into a subtle sense of panic, a feeling that if it didn’t happen right that moment, it never would. He wanted his lover mad with desire, yes, but he didn’t want him to wind up a keening mess. Not just yet, anyhow. There would be time for that sort of thing later, when both of their heads were just a bit clearer.

“Yes, darling. Just...” Greg grunted in surprise as Edward withdrew slightly and shoved his hand forward, ensuring that the slide of his fingers was easy and smooth. “No pain, right?”

“Ungh. No. God no, feels good. So good, need more. _Now_ , E. Now.”

Edward noted with a fair amount of amusement that Greg’s earlier edict that he would not beg was only being held to the strictest of definitions. After all, demanding wasn’t exactly the same as begging, was it? His cock twitched at the low whine of disappointment that followed him as he withdrew to the side, reaching into the bedside table for a condom. Edward berated himself mentally as he fiddled with the foil packet with slick fingers, finally sticking it in his mouth and ripping it open with his teeth. _Should have thought of that earlier, you daft fool._

He glanced aside as he rolled it on, eyeing the fine figure that was just waiting for him with his glorious arse held high in the air. Greg’s face was still buried in the pillow, practically nothing but his gorgeous silver hair even visible. “Turn over, darling. I want to see your face.”

Greg wriggled as he turned his cheek, one deep-brown eye blinking out at him speculatively. Edward felt his erection wilt slightly at the little of his expression that he could easily see, something hesitant and more than a little sad. Greg pushed himself up on his elbows and shook his head definitively. “I don’t particularly want to see yours, though. We’ll do it like this, or not at all.”

“Ah.” Edward swallowed uneasily and nodded. No, this wasn’t going to fix them, was it? “I understand.” He smiled shakily as Greg tilted his head, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. Clearly, he had expected a bit of an argument, and was surprised that Edward was conceding to his desires without putting up a bit more of a fuss. He just shrugged and tilted his chin at the pillows. “Shove a couple of those under your hips, then. Take some of the pressure off your knees.”

“ _Erm_. D’you want a towel or something on top?” Greg blushed adorably. “Pretty sure I’m gonna make a mess.”

Edward growled as he pumped out some more lube and stroked it over his sheathed cock, giving himself a good few pulls to reawaken its interest. “No, that’s perfect, darling. Leave your mark all over my bedding and I’ll fall asleep with your smell surrounding me and wake up so unbelievably horny that I’ll just have to hump one of those pillows until I come all over your come and then it will smell like the both of us and that’ll be just like fucking Heaven.”

He climbed back onto the mattress as Greg made some kind of incomprehensible noise of stark lust, collapsing onto the small pile of pillows under his groin. He wriggled and writhed, and Edward waited until he had situated himself before reaching out with both hands to grasp at his arse-cheeks, pulling them open and simply staring as his hole fluttered under his scrutiny.

_“Edward.”_

Greg’s voice held a command that was impossible for Edward to ignore, and he went up on his knees as he shuffled closer. “You’re just so beautiful for me, my darling. I could stare at you all night.” The only response was a low growl and one hand being slammed down on the mattress, Greg once again making his demands perfectly clear. Since he was just as eager - if not more so - Edward simply blew out a sharp breath and put the tip of his cock on his target, grasping the root between thumb and forefinger as he moved forward, smoothly entering Greg’s body.

He took him as though he had been built for him, letting out small _‘oh oh oh’_ noises of appreciation as he spread his legs wide and tilted his hips up. Edward bottomed out with a quiet groan, feeling his cock twitch deep inside as Greg clenched down on him involuntarily. He leant forward and braced his hands on the mattress, with Greg’s back brushing up against his chest as he panted for breath. He ran his fingers through his hair and along the back of his neck, making quiet shushing noises.

“Hush, now. Nice deep breaths, darling. Shh...” Greg hummed and took in a solid breath through his nose, letting it out of his mouth at a slow, measured pace. “That’s it.” He pushed forward with his hips, sighing in quiet ecstasy. “Still good?”

Greg nodded even as he snarled with impatience. “Stop checking in, you great git. I’m not made of glass, you aren’t going to break me. If something hurts I will tell you. Now _fuck_ me.”

Edward gusted out a disbelieving huff of air and let his forehead drop in between Greg’s shoulder blades. He stayed there for just a moment, silently blinking against an unseemly wave of emotion. Fine. If he wanted this to be nothing more than a fuck, then that’s what it would be. Even if he had never felt anything as wonderful as this tight heat, no matter how many men he’d had under him. Greg was perfect, so very perfect, and he deserved to get exactly what he wanted.

So Edward gave it to him, abruptly straightening up and grasping his hips in both hands, spreading his fingers wide so that the nails dug into the curve of the bone with nearly bruising force. Greg moaned and planted his hands against the headboard, bracing himself for the assault to follow. The first few thrusts were long and slow, both of their bodies adjusting to the sensations that were pushing and pulling within them. Edward was only able to look down at the spot where they were joined for a few moments, quickly feeling his arousal swirling out of control as he watched his cock sliding in and out, Greg’s hole eagerly swallowing him down on every stroke.

He kept moving even as he tried to think of something that wasn’t as alluring as the heat surrounding him, trying to block out Greg’s high grunts and low whines. Edward found himself staring at the tips of his lover’s fingers as they pressed against the headboard, turning white from the pressure as he pushed back against his solid thrusts. He let out a whoosh of air in surprise as Greg did - something - with his hips, a saucy little roll and twist.

“Nnnhhgghh...” Greg chuckled merrily as Edward’s thighs quivered, as he once more fell forward and pressed his face into his spine, holding tight to one shoulder and one hip as he mindlessly fucked deep into the body trapped underneath his.

“Fuck yes, oh yes E like that just like that...”

Greg’s voice was breathless and strained, no doubt due to the weight of the body atop his. Edward didn’t think that he had ever sounded as lovely as he did in that moment, and he groaned as his bollocks pulled up tight, pulling his face out of the shelter of his lover’s back. “Not - not gonna last much longer, darling.”

Greg chuckled faintly again. “Me - me either. C’mon, love. Faster, deeper, ungh just like that, oh God...” Edward choked on air as the back of Greg’s neck flushed bright red, as he began to tremble underneath him with a desperate cry. “Yes yes, please oh please...”

As Greg’s voice cracked around that one syllable, Edward felt a swift bolt of lightning shoot into his brain, and he kept pumping his hips as he came, bright sparks flashing behind his eyelids. He was only dimly aware of the rising crescendo of Greg’s voice, as his body twitched and his passage clamped down around him. Edward jolted as his body shook itself into a quivering subsidence, hastily pushing himself up on his hands to help relieve some of the pressure on Greg’s breathing as he panted and writhed below him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics from "Dominion/Mother Russia", found on the album Floodland by The Sisters of Mercy.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somewhat of a resolution...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is almost shamefully short, but I like where I've ended it for the moment, and since the last chapter was a fairly hefty one, I figured it would be fine for the moment. More to come, as always. Perhaps one chapter and then we'll be revisiting Mycroft and Collins for a little bit! (You guys like Collins, right?)
> 
> Kisses, my lovelies!

Edward lifted himself up on his knees, taking in a breath in preparation to withdraw. He was startled when Greg’s arm abruptly reached out behind him, his hand clamping down hard around his hip. He growled low as he pulled him in deeper. “Stay. For just a little while. Stay in me.”

Edward blinked as Greg looked at him from over his shoulder, his dark eyes intense with some indefinable emotion. Not trusting his voice, he merely nodded and waited for his lover to relax slightly, his hand dropping and sliding back to the pillow under his head. He leant forward, keeping his cock firmly in place, silently running his hands all over Greg’s glorious body as they both regained their air and some sense of normality.

But after just a couple of minutes, the squelching sensation surrounding his softening prick became a bit too unpleasant for Edward to be able to tolerate for much longer. “Darling...”

Greg sighed and shifted slightly, squeezing his arse-cheeks together before nodding and mumbling an affirmative into the pillow. Edward carefully took hold of the base of the condom before withdrawing, quickly clambering off the bed and into the bathroom to give himself a quick scrub. He came back out with a damp flannel to find that Greg had flopped over onto his back with one arm draped over his eyes.

He grinned at the considerable wet spot on the pillows that his lover had been propped up with, carefully shifting them to the side before leaning over in preparation to wipe him down. Instead he found the cloth being plucked from his fingers as Greg decidedly took care of the issue himself, neatly cutting off his meagre attempt at some small form of intimacy. But Edward was nothing if not persistent, so he laid back down at Greg’s side as he tossed the now soiled flannel on the floor. He tucked himself in as close as he dared and reached down to run his fingers up one solid thigh, tracing circles over the hollow of his hipbone.

Greg grunted quietly and shifted uneasily, but Edward didn’t let up, keeping his touch light and mostly inoffensive. “Want to order something in and maybe just hang out for a bit? We could make it a quiet evening, just some telly and maybe another go or, um...two?”

Greg snorted and shook his head, his face still mostly covered. “Can’t. I have a houseguest that I agreed to feed.” He hummed and stretched. “Should get going, actually. I’ve left him alone for far too long - he’ll get bored and set something on fire soon, I just know it.”

Edward blinked as his hand froze over Greg’s lower belly. “Houseguest?”

“Yeah. He invited himself over, the little shit.”

“He?”

“Mm.”

Edward frowned at the slight smile on the corner of Greg’s lips, knowing that he was playing with him and allowing it to get to him all the same. “He who?”

Greg sighed and pushed his hand away, abruptly sitting up and throwing his legs over the side of the bed, keeping his back to him. “Nobody of consequence. Why does it matter to you anyway?”

“It matters because you matter.” Edward huffed irritably as he pulled himself upright and leant back against the headboard. “I’m just interested, that’s all. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

There was another sigh as Greg ruffled at the hair at the back of his head. “Sherlock.”

“Oh. So he’s not dead, then.” Edward shrugged as Greg finally turned to look at him, his eyebrows high on his forehead. “I know you were worried about him, that’s all. So good. I’m glad he’s okay.” Greg’s dark eyes studied his face for a while, and he finally nodded curtly. “Invited himself, you said?”

“Yeah.” Greg snorted and grinned. “Broke into my flat and just made himself at home, really. Came back last night - er, this morning - and found him passed out in the middle of my bed wearing my pyjamas and smelling like my shampoo. Thank God for that, actually. Considering how unpleasant he smelled the last time he crashed into my life...”

Edward’s stomach did an uneasy little flip at the distant look in his lover’s eyes, a tiny crinkle of pleasure in between his eyebrows. “Good. That’s good.” He shrugged again and idly picked a non-existent piece of fluff off of one bare knee as Greg’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Maybe just a cup of coffee, then?”

“No, I don’t think so. I really do have to go.”

Edward watched with a slight amount of dismay as Greg stretched again before standing and gathering up his shed clothing, dressing himself with a languid grace. Even the jealousy that was slowly simmering in the pit of his belly wasn’t enough to keep Edward’s cock from twitching appreciatively as Greg bent over to lace his boots. More as an attempt to contain himself than out of any sense of modesty, Edward rose and dug out a pair of pants for himself before tossing some loose jogging bottoms on top.

He swept his spare key up from where it had landed when Greg had thrown it at him earlier, clasping it in his tightened fist for just a moment. Edward turned back and watched as Greg rummaged through his tote, finally rooting out the empty CD case and holding it up questioningly. He nodded him toward the small hi-fi set on the bureau and watched as he retrieved his disc, clearing his throat before awkwardly extending his hand and revealing the key.

“Please, darling.”

Greg blinked down at it for a long moment, his lips pursed in thought. Edward swallowed past an uncomfortable click in his throat as Greg looked down at the floor and away, his hand subconsciously tapping the CD case against his leg. Greg’s head tilted as he caught sight of Edward’s shoes, all neatly lined up next to the wardrobe. Humming quietly, he went and picked up one of the trainers that he hardly ever wore, as the only exercise that he willingly engaged in was of the horizontal variety. Edward watched with a bit of confusion as the lace was neatly plucked from the eyelets. Without uttering a word of explanation, Greg took up the key and threaded the shoelace through it, knotting the ends together before dropping it over Edward’s head.

He stood there and glanced up at him before raising one hand that was trembling ever so slightly, pushing the cold metal of the key into Edward’s chest. “To remember me. When I’m not there, when you’re about to do something stupid... Hopefully this will serve as your reminder. In three months’ time, I will let you know whether I will accept your key or not. During that time, we will date just like any other couple. You will take me out some nights, I will make you stay in on others. We will fuck around together and maybe - someday - I will be able to trust you with my heart again.” Greg’s lips turned up in a sad little frown as his eyes drifted from Edward’s chest to his face, looking intensely into his eyes. “I know that this particular scene didn’t happen the way you were imagining it might, and I am a little sorry for that. Even still, I am glad it was you and you did make me feel so good, E. I’m looking forward to next time.”

Edward cleared his throat quietly, resisting the urge to grab at his waist and pull him in and never let him go. “And maybe next time you’ll actually be able to look at me?”

Greg’s lips quirked up slightly. “Maybe, yeah.”

“I’ll call you.”

“I know.”

Edward’s eyes drifted closed as Greg went up on his toes to press a gentle kiss to one corner of his mouth and then the other. He resolutely kept himself rooted to the spot as he felt the heat of Greg’s body drifting away, as he heard the rustling of the tote being lifted from the bed. Still he kept himself quiet and closed off as there were steps down his hallway and the sound of his front door opening and closing. Edward sighed as he let the tension in his body go, opening his eyes and looking at the wreck of his bed before stepping out into the kitchen to make himself some coffee, preparing to settle down by himself for a very lonely and extremely self-reflective evening.


End file.
